Till Love Do Us Part
by sunnysoul
Summary: If they are really in love, why do they leave? An attempt to explore relationships 'most likely to be broken at some point or another' with the romanceable NPCs in the original, mod and enhanced edition: Viconia, Xan and Rasaad. PC is pretty much a half-elf version of Imoen, with the propensity for darker thoughts and even more thievery. Who's romancing who, is another question.
1. 1: Xan

"My wounds are too grave. I'm a dead man. Just ... leave me be."

Xan jerked his head away from the half-elf and her putrid-smelling potion. He felt his stomach churning, whether from the stab wound or the thought of the vile concoction before him, he honestly couldn't tell. As he lay on the ground, he wished the earth would crumble beneath him and plunge him into eternal darkness.

"For Corellon's sake, stay still!" the half-elf Arquen barked, pressing the bottle against his tight lips. She looked up and waved their companions over. "Rasaad, hold him down! This is the only remedy that may help!"

As Rasaad hurried over, she barked at Imoen this time. "Have we no more healing potions? _At all?_"

"Can't find any!" Imoen shot back. Xan turned just in time to see her flipping _his_ backpack upside down, tipping all its contents – including his spellbook and unwashed garments – onto the muddy ground.

Before Xan could shout his protest, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and his jaw being gripped with the other.

"Relax, my friend. What may seem distasteful now is merely a part of the recovery process," the monk said in his gentle voice and serene expression, which to Xan had always been more creepy than calming.

Arquen quickly poured the vile liquid into his mouth; it tasted like the gallbladder of an animal mixed with rotten grapefruit. Xan started gagging. Could it possibly poison him instead? The half-elf was neither a healer nor an alchemist, and he had no idea where she thought up this healing remedy.

Though perhaps, poisoning him could end his agony. Pain shot through his entire body again and it took all his willpower to refrain from screaming out loud.

It was unbelievable, simply unbelievable, that he would let a drow be the cause of all this!

He couldn't muster the strength to turn to her but he knew the drow stood just a few feet away, recovering from her chase across the Peldvale forest. If Xan hadn't intervened, she would surely have been caught by the Flaming Fist mercenary, and most likely executed on the spot. Xan didn't move as quickly as Rasaad though, and while he wielded a moonblade he was certainly no warrior, so the mercenary managed an accurate lunge and stabbed him in the stomach.

"Is the potion working? Should we give him some more?" Arquen and Rasaad hovered over him, threatening another round of the homemade potion, forcing him to grimace.

"I believe I can help."

The drow spoke in short breaths and a heavy accent. He opened his eyes to see her kneeling down in front of him. Arquen and Rasaad exchanged looks, and everyone realized that they had little choice but to trust the stranger. Rasaad patted his shoulder softly before stepping aside.

The drow bent over him and placed her hand on his body, just below the rib cage where he had been stabbed. The thought of having such a dark creature touching him made Xan shudder. This was the closest encounter he ever had with a drow, and he had to be at her mercy (of course, knowing his luck, how else could it have turned out?).

She shut her eyes as she concentrated on her chanting. A warm glow was cast over his wounds, and moments later the pain subsided. Xan sighed, for once in great relief.

It was the most inappropriate moment to contemplate on such matters then, or perhaps he was slipping into delirium that caused his thoughts to wander so, but Xan found himself strangely entranced by the drow's features. Up close, he noticed that her grey skin had a bluish hue. She still kept her hood on, with her face further concealed by a fall of silvery white hair. He could make out a beauty spot on the left side of her face. Her upturned eyes were the color of amethyst, and she was now staring back at him.

Xan choked back a cough at the realization of admiring a drow.

She frowned at him as if she just read his mind, but said nothing. She ran her hands over his wounds again and, satisfied with her work of healing, she pulled him up to a sitting position.

The others had gathered in a small circle around them, no doubt eyeing the drow and her cleric abilities with interest.

"My name is Viconia. I - I'm not from around here," she addressed them slowly.

"I know you may not be willing to give me a chance because of my dark skin." She paused with a tensed yet unapologetic expression. "I am a drow, but if you give me a chance you will not regret it. Your wounded elf will live as I have been able to heal the worst of the damage, but he will be weak for a few days."

Arquen, their de facto leader, stepped forward and extended her hand. "We have completely run out of healing potions. All I have left is this homemade potion I brewed back in Candlekeep. Xan would've been in a lot more trouble if you weren't able to heal him. It looks like we need the extra help, so of course we'll take you in."

The drow gave a small grin and said, "I won't disappoint you, I promise."

Xan groaned in silence. They might as well send a message to the next village telling everyone to start polishing their pitchforks and stakes. Could their leader be anymore naive as to not know the reputation of drows? Why, just _why_, did he not part ways with them when he had the chance in Nashkel?

"Arquen, I hate to break this to you," her human-half-sister Imoen started, "but there is _no way_ we can make it to the bandit camp in this state, even with the help of a cleric. We kinda underestimated how many bandits there were, not to mention the bears and the gibberlings and whatever creatures that roam these woods!"

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"Maybe we ought to return to the Friendly Arm Inn? At least until Xan has fully recovered and all. Then, you know, fully prepare ourselves instead of marching off into the wilderness. Maybe ... maybe find Jaheira and Khalid?"

Imoen shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, while Arquen bit down on her lip. Imoen added, "Xan almost died, you know ..."

"Okay, okay, point taken! We'll head back to the Friendly Arm!"

Imoen broke into a bright smile and Xan caught her saying something about glorious hot baths under her breath. So much for the concern of him dying, he sighed to himself as he slowly got to his feet.

Everyone gathered their backpacks quickly, mostly repacking the items that Imoen had thrown out in her panic. Xan quickly shoved his clothes into the bottom of the pack before anyone else noticed that none of them were clean. He sighed as he found a few of his carefully packed rations and spell components in the dirt, which he would have to leave behind. Then he spent a few minutes wiping the grass stains off his spellbook. The temptation to shout at Imoen was great … _It wasn't deliberate – her panic state caused her clumsiles_s, he kept telling himself.

When his backpack was back in order, Xan found himself reluctantly handing it to Rasaad. The monk also offered to hold him up, but Arquen quickly stepped in between them. "I'll walk with Xan," she said. "You are still limping from the last injury, I can tell, so you can't expect to be both pack mule and steed!"

Xan hoped she couldn't sense the heat on his face as she slipped her arms around him, her tousled blonde hair rolling down his shoulder. "Can you walk?" she asked.

They took a few steps, and Xan cursed his weakened state under his breath. Though he felt steady enough to stand upright, his legs seemed to be pulled down by weights when he marched. "At a snail's pace, I regret to say."

"Even if it takes a day, we'll get there," she replied with her never-ending optimism.

They set off westwards, more or less backtracking through their earlier path. Xan felt himself leaning into the petite half-elf constantly, which also made him feel utterly disgraced. Thankfully, if Arquen was bothered, she didn't show it. Imoen strayed ahead and was out of sight most of the time. In between the march was Rasaad, who glanced back every few minutes to make sure no one was trailing too far behind.

Some time passed when he found the new addition to their party at his side. They walked in silence for awhile, the drow glancing sideways at him and Arquen every so often. Sometimes she would catch his eye and hold his gaze for a moment.

After studying him for awhile, she finally spoke. "It is ... curious that an elf would come to my rescue. Why did you save me from that brute?"

Xan sighed impulsively. "You would've been killed by that mercenary otherwise."

"Others would have found the killing of a drow pleasing to watch."

"I'm sorry for not abandoning you to your fate."

Viconia paused and Xan could feel her gaze bearing into the back of his head and they stepped ahead of her. She caught up with him again and, to his surprise, she reached for his arm. "Come, Arquen, let me be the one to bear this burden for awhile."

"Oh, it's quite alright, Viconia," Arquen replied good-naturedly. "I'm pretty sure you've had quite an eventful day yourself. I do not feel at all encumbered."

The two women wanting to hold him up on either side was possibly the closest experience to being desirable he would ever have. He felt extremely awkward, and completely emasculated. They were now gripping his arms rather tightly, and he felt like a straw compared to Rasaad. At the last inn they stayed in, he'd accidentally overheard Arquen and Imoen discussing the monk's physique, how thrilled they were to discover that there were actually monks "frolicking around topless with washboard abdomens and tattoos on the parts of their body where you most want to run your hands over", which made him feel even more insecure about himself. Not that he wanted them to make _him_ a topic for their gossip, but still…

"So, surface elf, how deeply do you object to my presence?" Viconia reminded him of her presence. Xan didn't answer her straight away. Did she really want him to recount elven history to her? Was she hoping to provoke him into striking her?

"It is pointless to care who is a part of this group or not. In the end we are all doomed." He did however use the opportunity to move his arm away. "You don't have to be here though. I am managing quite well."

"I see you have recovered your senses, as well as prejudices. So it is. I have repaid you for my rescue. I would have gladly left you to suffer and die, were you not my rescuer." She walked ahead and overtook Rasaad, who turned back, this time with a curious glance.

"Xan," Arquen said in a low voice. "I think she meant well. Why did you shrug her off like that?"

"You have little experience with drow, I can tell. Their kind is not to be trusted. It would be wise not to keep her in our company for too long."

"Oh, but she seemed so earnest when she said she won't let us down. Though I have not come across drow before, it is curious that she should be wandering the surface alone, if at all. Perhaps she's not your typical drow?"

"True," Xan replied. "Regardless, I would not be so quick to trust her. You already have assassins to deal with, and the last thing I wish to witness is treachery within our group. I do worry for your safety, Arquen." The last line came out too quickly and Xan coughed. He really, really hoped Arquen wouldn't interpret it the wrong way as she smiled at him.

"That's nice to know, Xan." She gave his arm a little squeeze and they carried on in silence.


	2. 2: Viconia

The Friendly Arm Inn and its open doors were not unknown to Viconia, but she never would have dared approach it on her own. She had heard of its high stone walls and fortified keep, with guards roaming the grounds all hours of the day. Alone, her ebony features would not have made it past the gates without a long interrogation on her reasons for wandering the area, if not her reasons for wandering the surface world at all. As they approached the gates, Viconia kept her head lowered, but in the company of four surfacers, the guards gave them all but a passing glance.

Thus she welcomed the sense of security she felt in her newfound company, something she hadn't experienced for a long, long time. Had she even travelled with a group of surfacers without being enslaved, with the freedom to come and go as she pleased? Added to that was a new experience of naiveté from the two girls, who prattled on about their days ahead openly. What they imagined the streets of Baldur's Gate to look like if they ever got to visit it. Spells they would like to badger out of Xan. How much gold they had left. If Rasaad could outrun a (charging) bear. Their next feast. She honestly didn't know what to make of it as she watched Imoen bouncing up the stone steps leading to the inn, with Arquen dragging a fatigued Xan closely behind and Rasaad now hauling four backpacks.

The sun was just about to set when they stepped into the inn, which housed a handful of travelers. They didn't linger long downstairs at first as everyone was eager to unload their gear and unwind in long-needed hot baths. The night was nearly late when hunger drew all of them – with the exception of Xan, who, according to Rasaad, had a splitting headache – back down to the tavern.

"Do drow eat veal?" Imoen asked as she pushed the basket of bread and mug of mead towards Viconia. They were occupying the table closest to the bar, where they could keep an eye on patrons making lodging arrangements for the night.

"Just like you, anything stupider and slower that can be chewed, are edible," Viconia replied, helping herself to a small bun.

"Oh." The girl ignored the slight and helped herself to the cheese from Rasaad's plate. Either the monk was familiar with her unladylike ways, or he was simply oblivious to it. His undivided attention was on Arquen as the half-elf related the story of how she came about a pair of golden pantaloons from the third floor.

"I mean, do I even _look_ like the laundry service to you?" she asked him with a fierce expression, pointing at her face.

"No, of course not. You would need to be wearing a servant's outfit," the monk said, without realizing that he also meant her facial features _could_ pass for the laundry service. He also didn't realize she was now looking at him with dagger eyes. _That's one step closer to the grave for him, _Viconia observed in amusement.

"How did you end up in the noble's room in the first place?" Rasaad asked.

"She forgot where our room was, obviously," Imoen cut in, and sniggered as she skillfully avoided a slap on the hand.

Arquen left the conversation at that, and went back to her meal, tearing at her bread rather savagely now. A few minutes later, she looked up to survey the crowd around them, then frowned to herself. She kept doing this every few minutes.

"Looking for someone?" Viconia decided to ask.

"Yes. Some ... old friends," Arquen said slowly.

"Bentley says they pop by every other tenday or so," Imoen added.

"Are we to wait until these friends show up? And if they do not?"

The frown deepened. Viconia figured that their next step would depend on the arms and counsel of these "friends". The party's venture into Peldvale on their own sounded like they had, in retrospect, taken a step backwards, with many a day and effort gone to waste.

Rasaad joined in the conversation to say, "Perhaps it was unwise of us to go our separate ways."

Viconia could see the half-elf's eyes starting to twitch. Failing to appeal to vanity and now pointing out a mistake (that goes without saying)? _Another step closer to the grave._

Although the two girls were very much alike in their manners, Imoen came across as the only one who was unceasingly chipper. Whilst Imoen would giggle and not take it to heart, Arquen's face would darken noticeably whenever she didn't hear the right answer to a query, like now.

How amusing it was, that the monk had spent more weeks in her company, and had yet to understand her temperament.

"Jaheira and Khalid's counsel has never failed to steer us back to the right path," he continued innocently.

_That was the last step, _Viconia thought. _He'll be pushing daisies in the morning._

Arquen threw down her table knife so hard that it impaled itself into a potato. She folded her arms – slowly, for effect – and shot a death glare at Rasaad. This time it didn't go unnoticed.

"Did I just say something wrong?" The monk looked genuinely alarmed. His eyes darted over to Imoen for help and the other human answered him by sliding her finger from one side of her neck to the other.

"No-o. Thank you for pointing out my failed leadership, that's all," Arquen said sarcastically.

"Have I offended you? I'm truly sorry if I have..."

"Hmm, let's see ... Xan's doom-saying, or your penchant for stating the obvious – I'm simply torn between the two."

"I … I," the poor boy fumbled. "I don't know what to say."

"Why don't you get out of my sight?"

"My turn this time to tell you to take it easy on others," Imoen told her sister as they watched the monk make his retreat as per suggestion. "He has always been so sweet, you know. Not to mention, all he did was merely point out his _dead-on_ observations."

"Sorry, Immy. It's just so frustrating sometimes. Clearly the boys aren't idiots. But somehow they just manage to say all the wrong things at the wrong time." She massaged her temples and closed her eyes. "I _know_ we made a mistake splitting up with Jaheira and Khalid. I don't need anyone highlighting it! Gods, was Xan banging on and on and on about it the whole. Entire. Day!"

"For what it's worth, I think you handled the monk quite well. You need to remind the men that there is no room for insolence from those of lesser status," Viconia felt compelled to say. No incident was too minor or petty to let slide. With some guidance, she believed the half-elf could benefit from the ways of the drow, along with the inviolability of Shar.

Arquen chuckled. "That's an interesting perspective." She drank the last of her mead. "To answer your earlier question, I guess we'll wait. Hopefully they'll show up in the next few days."

The half-elf leaned back in her seat, watching the tavern activities again as if expecting her friends to appear that very night instead. There was much sound of flagons and tankards banging on tabletops, but solitary travelers made up most of the crowd. Not even merchants with coin aplenty, Viconia noted. These were people stopping only for the night, with little desire for chatting.

Not Imoen though, who cleared her throat audibly. "Sooo … how did ya end up on the surface? Aren't drow adverse to sunlight? How do you deal with the sunburn?"

Viconia turned to the inquisitive girl. "The sun is most certainly a nuisance. I cannot comprehend how surfacers put up with the summer's heat year upon year. It pains the eyes and causes even more dizziness than insipid conversation."

"Sooo what makes you stay?"

"If you must insist on being so intrusive, I am an exile amongst my people."

"Ohh, what happened?"

"I failed to sacrifice a babe. Perhaps I would have carried it out willingly, if I had known how inhospitable life on the surface would be."

Imoen's eyes grew to the size of saucers just then. She shot her sister a worried look. Arquen maintained a stoic expression, however, not showing approval or objection.

She appeared to simply accept the fact that their mismatched party members come from very different circumstances and upbringing.

"As long as you don't slit our necks in our bedrolls, I do not object to you traveling with us," the half-elf finally said as she stood up.

Imoen and Viconia pushed their seats back as they left their table, and followed her upstairs without exchanging another word.

* * *

A proper bed after … how long ago has it been? She, Viconia, had a proper bed to lie in, one she didn't have to pay a foul-smelling man for with her flesh. It was a promising start to a new day on the surface.

Viconia stared up at the ceiling, appreciating the barrier that reined in the otherwise boundless sky. Her sleep had been uninterrupted throughout the night. No worrying about attackers emerging from the shadows. A thick, dry blanket that didn't smell of the forest.

The two sisters' beds sat on the other side of the room, a common table and chairs separating Viconia from them. She could see Imoen still dead to the world, with her blanket wrapped snugly around her and a serene smile on her face. Arquen on the hand was already up, braiding parts of her blonde hair.

Viconia decided to rise as well.

The half-elf greeted her with a warm smile. "Did you sleep, I mean, reverie well?" she asked, combing her fingers through her tousled blonde hair to find another section to braid.

"I slept well."

"Don't drow go into reverie like surface elves?"

"Mostly they do, but I have too many … recollections that plague my thoughts, that have caused my recent reveries to be more unsettling than restful." She surprised herself for actually telling the truth, but that was all she would tell the half-elf, just in case.

"I see."

Instead of probing further, Arquen left Viconia to tend to her morning routine. Another reason why she found the half-elf's company more bearable than the others – she knew when to be mute.

When she spoke again, she said, "I don't think Imoen will be awake anytime soon. What say we head outside for some fresh air?"

Outside, the morning air was crisp and chill, overridden with clouds that held back the arrival of the sun. Only one guard stood on duty in the front compound, and he too looked half-awake.

Nearby, they could hear the sounds of wood being dragged across the ground.

"Rasaad's awake," Arquen said with an eager smile, last night's conversation seemingly forgotten.

By the high stone wall, they found the monk busy stacking discarded planks and barrels. With his shirt off, his muscular frame showed off the intricate set of tattoos that ran across his chest and down his arms. They decided not to draw his attention just yet. Instead they stood some distance away and watched him at work.

Upon having a considerable pile of wood, Rasaad stepped back and took a few deep breaths. Then in one mighty blow, he punched through the pile from top to bottom and split the pile clean apart in the middle.

Arquen clapped in great admiration.

Noticing his audience, the monk walked over with a sheepish look. "Good morning, Arquen, Viconia."

"That was most impressive!" Arquen said loudly, her voice in a noticeably higher pitch.

Viconia could see the half-elf's eyes roaming over the monk's tattoo-covered chest. She couldn't blame her for doing so. Sweat glistened on the monk's handsome face and body. If he had showed off this display of strength any later in the day, he would have attracted a crowd of swooning female bystanders.

Rasaad raised an arm to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, treating them to a view of his toned triceps. On his upper arm, the tattoos weaved around a symbolic circle with lines pointed in the four directions. Along with the pendant resting on his bare chest, it marked his worship of Selune. _The pathetic Moonmaiden,_ to Viconia, and served as a reminder to the drow that the moon-monk, despite his impressive form, was an enemy to the secrets of Shar.

Befitting a follower of the weak goddess, he spoke depreciatively of himself the night before. "Arquen, I ... I think I offended you greatly last night. I don't actually know what I did wrong, but I just want to say I'm sorry if I did anything that caused you any unpleasantness."

"What oh that I've already forgotten all about that don't worry about it!" was the squeaky reply.

"I am glad to hear that." The monk smiled in relief. He put on his shirt, which had the effect of snapping Arquen out of his so-called inherent charm spell. She wiped the silly grin off her face and inquired about Xan.

"Last night Xan mentioned that he might be developing a terrible cough. He believes it to be hemoptysis."

"In order words, he's back to his normal self and doing fabulously?" Arquen said with a smile.

It took a moment for Rasaad to catch on, and he chuckled. "Ah, I believe so, yes."

Though the half-elf's humour didn't elude her as easily as it did Rasaad, Viconia still raised a brow, curious about the surface elf she would have to travel with for days to come.

"That's how Xan is," Arquen explained. "He has already written an obituary note for each one of us. Rasaad's one says he will be mauled to death for punching a dire werewolf."

Though she had another grin on her face, the monk stared at her with his mouth open. "You are telling a joke ... yes?" he asked with a somewhat horrified look.

Viconia could only shake her head in pity. Arquen sighed in silent defeat.

"Despite how he may appear, I'm pretty certain the mage is no soothsayer. Now then, breakfast, anyone?"

* * *

"I suppose it is my duty to check on the wounded," Viconia said after finishing her sop and broth, interrupting the silence that had befell the table. Somewhere between their last few mouthfuls and the question of "So what are we going to do today?", the conversation died.

"Mm hmm," Arquen replied distractedly as she gazed in the direction of the bar with half-closed eyes. She rested her chin on one hand, drumming her fingers softly on the table with the other. There was the gnome proprietor tending the bar, but Viconia was pretty certain the half-elf wasn't actually interested his method of wiping the counter with his dishcloth.

"Rasaad, if you're done, why don't you take her to Xan, then fetch Imoen?" she suggested without bothering to look his way.

The monk, who had been staring into his empty cup for the last fifteen minutes, snapped out of his own grim expression.

"Certainly."

He led the way to the second floor, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time, yet soundlessly and with the grace of a cat. _The few talents imparted by Selune_, Viconia thought as she tried to keep up with him. Other than his athletics, she found the man rather dim-witted. Even the ability to mope seemed above him.

The room was the second furthest from the landing. It was much smaller than what the women had, decorated with a chest of drawers and an empty bookshelf. Inside, Xan sat on one of the beds with his knees up, resting a thick book on his lap. Resting close to him against the side of the bed was his moonblade.

When he saw Viconia, he shut the book and sighed audibly.

"Is there something you need, Viconia?" he said, flipping his legs over the edge of the bed.

"You were absent last night and also this morning. One simply wonders if your delicate condition has anything to do with it."

"I'm not dying. Not yet anyway. You needn't trouble yourself."

Rasaad started towards the door. "I am going to fetch Imoen now."

"Yes, go fetch. Ever the good dog, you are," Viconia remarked. She was hoping to hear a comeback but the monk merely shut the door behind him gently.

"Leave the hapless boy alone," Xan told her, letting out a cough.

"Your roommate mentioned you have developed a terrible cough."

"Please don't call him that. Yes, ever since that day. Likely due to some acidic component in Arquen's potion that has razed my throat. Corellon knows what was in it!" He cleared his throat and exhaled loudly.

Viconia alarmed him first by sitting down next to him on the bed without asking, or warning him. Then she reached for his throat. A look of trepidation washed over the elf's face, and he attempted to grab her wrist, until her quick spell cleared the soreness he had.

Xan ran his fingers over his throat and closed his eyes. "It's actually better now."

"Now, as for your wound, do you still feel it?"

"Just some dull, but persistent aching. I suppose it's worse if I laughed, so I'm grateful that I never do."

"I shall have a look then."

"Well, it's – " The elf looked around him as if there was some other way to do it, then sighed and, very hesitantly, pulled up his tunic.

"It's much easier if you lie down."

Xan muttered something in elvish that sounded like a curse. Once more, he looked around the room for an alternative, and failing to find one again, he slowly placed his feet back onto the bed, then placed his hands stiffly by his sides. She could tell, with great amusement, how _very_ uncomfortable he was.

Viconia tugged his tunic up high nonchalantly, revealing his bony ribs and a reddish welt that had formed where the wound used to be. Not unexpected, she thought, but she could also tell that he had been picking at it. She ran a minor healing spell over the welt and the angry color faded.

"We are done," she told him.

The elf jumped to his feet and smoothed his tunic down hastily. Sweat had formed on his forehead in those few minutes, even though the room was not at all warm.

Viconia remained sat on his bed. His manners reminded her so much of the humans who had shared her bed. After their exertions, during which they participated wholeheartedly, they nearly always leapt out of the sheets, as if they had just sullied themselves to a point of no return. Oh, she couldn't _not_ comment.

"Coward. I wasn't about to spill your innards, if you wish to know."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Furthermore, I stumbled across your monk shirtless and bathed in sweat this morning, so you needn't worry about what your bare physique would do for me."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I WAS THINKING!"

"If you say so." She gave him her sweetest smile.

He let out the same elvish swear words again. He also looked like he was going to claw his eyes out with his thumb and finger.

"Did – did Arquen mentioned if we were leaving today?" he said, changing the subject.

"No. She waits for your former comrades."

He sighed. "I see. Well, thank you for your _magnanimity._ I'd like to go back to my reading now, so could you _please_ leave me alone?"

Viconia stood up. Slowly, she moved towards him until their toes were nearly touching. She peered into his eyes – they were deep blue, and very intense as he matched her own iciness with a scowl. She moved her hand as if to grab his throat again.

His hand reached for the moonblade by the side of the bed.

"As you wish," she went back to the demure expression.

She took a step back before turning to face the door. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to know that the elf was glaring at her with pure loathing.

* * *

Viconia didn't expect to have another encounter the elf again so soon, but that evening, just when she stepped into the tavern with the girls, she spotted the familiar faces of two Calishite guards she thought she would never see again.

_What are they doing so far north?_ she wondered to herself, lowering her head but keeping an eye on the two humans, who seemed content to linger at the bar with their drink. It had been two years since she fled north to Amn, hoping to leave her first memories of the surface behind her. She had travelled with a Calishite caravan, spending considerable time not just as the owner's pleasure slave, but those two guards also had their share of ravaging her flesh, their first, and perhaps only, with a drow. Such memories could not be removed so easily, even more so with the caravan owner's untimely demise.

Viconia had been named the only suspect for the caravan owner's death, though the portly human died from a natural heart attack. The guards launched a hunt for her in the name of revenge, but she knew they also wanted to silence her from ever telling anyone else of the nights they sought, and desired, her.

"Oh look, our favourite seats have been reserved specially for us!" Imoen announced as she dragged a chair loudly at the same table they occupied the night before, which caused the guards to glance their way.

Viconia hissed under her breath, hoping the girls would converse with a bit more civility and less volume tonight.

But it was not to be. Even worse, Imoen decided to pick Rasaad as her target for dinner conversation as soon as he entered the tavern and called out, "Hey, Calishite monk! I really wanna ask you something about the Calim Desert! Ever rode a camel?"

The two men looked their way again, first at the monk for being a fellow Calishite, then at the three women he managed to acquire in his company. When their eyes roamed over to Viconia, one of them squinted as the other cocked his head slightly to the side to try and make out her features under her hood. The last thing Viconia wanted was a confrontation, and if their memory of her served, a confrontation would not be easy to avoid.

"I shall leave you to dine alone tonight," she hissed, tightening her hood as she stood up.

"But I thought you said you were starving?" Arquen declared. Viconia didn't answer the half-elf as she slipped away from the table.

Situations like this happened much too often! She fumed to herself as she quickly ascended the stairs. Always, in busy places where crowds of surfacers would gather, she had to be wary of the people she had known, and who knew her. Her grumbling stomach didn't help her sour mood. When she got to the room, she decided kick the door before fishing out her key.

To her surprise, the door was unlocked, and she found Xan at the centre of everything.

"What are you doing here?" Viconia snapped.

The elf held up a dagger with intricate leaf motifs on its hilt. "This dagger would suit a rogue very well, especially when coated in poison. Its curved blade would cause devastating wounds indeed," he mumbled. He put it back on the table and picked up a jade ring next, rolling it in between his fingers, frowning at it. "This ring is definitely magical but I have yet to discover its exact enchantments."

"Are you saying you are in here to steal valuables from the women?"

Xan sighed deeply. "I was asked to appraise some of the items we have picked up along our journeys. I thought I should do it in the evening, when Imoen wouldn't bother – I mean, when there is little distraction. Is it very late?"

"Not at all ... the crowd is only just gathering downstairs."

"Then what are _you_ doing here?" He threw the question back at her.

Viconia didn't answer him immediately. Instead she went over to her backpack and rummaged through it. Imoen had given her a small bag of biscuits during their journey to the Friendly Arm Inn and she was hoping to find some leftovers.

There were none. She wondered if it would've crossed Arquen and Imoen's minds to send her food. But then she didn't say anything to them when she bolted from their table.

Stupid brutes! Would mercenaries never give her a moment's peace?

She looked up to see Xan with his arms crossed, still waiting for an answer.

"I happen to recognize some mercenaries and I do not wish to be acquainted with them again."

He raised an eyebrow, then picked up a wine glass in front of him. Viconia looked closer at the mess on the table and saw that, amongst the pile of weapons, scrolls, trinkets and miscellaneous items, were a loaf of bread, serving of stew, fruit and half a cheese wheel being used as paperweight. She would have derided him over the mess if it wasn't making her mouth water so.

She was still eyeing the food as Xan broke the bread apart with his long fingers. He placed a generous piece onto a wooden plate and pushed it away from him.

"I assume you didn't get the chance to eat," he said to her.

Surprised as she was with the thoughtfulness from the petulant elf, she took the chair to his side. Xan pushed the bowl of stew towards her as well as the cheese.

They ate in silence for awhile, and Viconia found her eyes fixed on the enchanter, observing the mechanical way he ate and how he sorted his food into neat, mouthful portions. His eyes were on his food but his thoughts appeared miles away. Could he be reflecting on her visit to his room this morning, and how she teased him before she left? She couldn't really tell what was going on behind that perfect mask of boredom.

"Have you been living in the wilderness since you arrived at Amn?" Xan broke the silence.

"Apart from perhaps a few hours' venture into farmlands and towns, it must have been at least five full seasons now."

"It is ... uncommon for a drow to be wandering the surface for so long, especially on their own," he said carefully.

"That is true."

"Imoen mentioned you have been exiled by the drow."

Viconia cocked an eyebrow as she wondered when Imoen had the chance to actually speak with Xan. They retired together the night before after Viconia mentioned her exile. The girl didn't wake up until her sister told – nay, ordered – Rasaad to pour cold water on her just before noon. All three women had been together after that for the entire day, mostly idling about in their room. When did she actually come in contact with Xan? Or, did she tell the monk, who then passed on the information to the elf? Nobody would ever peg that one as a gossipmonger though. Or was it Arquen who spread the story?

"You have no business to know, elf," Viconia said sharply, annoyed at not being able to figure out how fast gossip travelled within the group.

The elf went still for a moment.

"My apologies for asking," he muttered.

He pushed all the food towards her and turned his attention back to the jade ring, acting as if she was no longer present in the room. He circled the ring between his fingers again, then inspected the inner band for some form of inscription.

Viconia polished the rest of the food from the plate. Although they didn't speak again, she soon felt strangely relaxed in the elf's company. It was … what was the common word for it? It was a comforting feeling, and even though surface elves and drow were mortal enemies, she didn't feel threatened by Xan. She wondered if it was the wine from his glass – he'd push it across the table to her as well since it came with the single meal serving. She was even content to simply watch him examine items, occasionally scribbling notes on pieces of paper, including one that curiously read:

_Dear Arquen and Imoen,_

_You may use this ring to aid you in battle against wilderness beasts once a day. _

_PS: Do __**not**__ cast any charges from this ring on Rasaad._

She hid an amused smile. Even on paper, the elf nagged at the youngsters.

Not long after, Viconia heard their loud chatter approaching before the two girls skipped into the room. They glanced at the food and loot clutter on the table, but otherwise seemed unconcerned over why Viconia had fled from the tavern earlier.

"Need more candlelight?" Arquen even remarked, and shifted her attention to her things quickly before Xan and Viconia could shoot her a look.

Xan went back to examining another ring, whilst Viconia watched the girls with intrigue. She was no rogue, but she could tell that their nimble hands were fishing around for something specific from the half-elf's backpack, which they then quickly concealed up their sleeves.

Hardly five minutes later, they headed for the door again.

"Where are you going?" Xan slapped the ring on the table and barked just as Arquen placed her hand on the doorknob.

"Back downstairs," the half-elf paused to answer.

"Is Rasaad waiting for you?"

"Of course not! It's bedtime soon for him, you know, and all the other little children." The girls squealed with laughter before running off without another word.

Xan stared after them with a deep frown on his face. He glanced at their side of the room and narrowed in on Arquen's half-open backpack. He turned back to flip through the scrolls and trinkets on the table. "They couldn't have …" His sentence trailed off. With a loud sigh, he pushed back his chair and hurried away.

Thus Viconia was left alone in the room. Not keen to pursue the group downstairs in case the Calishite guards were still about, she decided to turn her attention to the weapons and trinkets that Xan had been studying.

There were assorted daggers, all of masterwork quality that could fetch a decent price if they were not put to use. A small pouch containing gemstones and jewelry. She picked up an obsidian ring to admire its glassy black stone with a golden sheen. A couple of rings had been set aside from the others. When Viconia touched them, she could sense their magical properties, but knew not what they were.

After perusing all the other items and finding nothing else of interest, she picked up the obsidian ring again.

She was holding it up at eye level for a closer inspection when a loud explosion occurred outside. A burst of white light flashed across the high window in front of her. Startled, she dropped the ring on the floor.

_What in the world was that?!_

She stood and stared hard out the window, listening intently for sounds of battle or altercation. There were none. Could it be just her imagination then, or some bizarre surface phenomenon? She retrieved the ring from the floor and placed it back in the pouch.

The door burst open a few minutes later.

Xan dragged both the girls into the room roughly, keeping an iron grip on Imoen's arm with one hand and the back of Arquen's collar on the other.

"Ow! You're hurting me!" Imoen whined, desperately trying to wriggle her arm away. For a mage and someone as skinny as he was, he was surprisingly strong.

"It would've hurt a lot more if the bolt had shot you in the face!" Xan said through gritted teeth before he finally let go of her. Imoen clutched her arm and squirmed in her boots, looking guiltily at the floor.

He turned to Arquen next. "Being the supposed wiser of the two of you, I am thoroughly appalled by your recklessness! How many times have I told you _not_ to experiment with magic you do not understand?"

Arquen's expression, unlike Imoen, was cold. "How are we ever going to learn new spells when you refuse to teach us anything?"

"How am I supposed to teach you anything new when you do not even put in the effort to mastering the basic cantrips?" the elf scolded. "I cannot believe how you just turned an illusion of dancing lights into a bolt of lightning!"

"Well, at least we have talent, unlike some senile wizard who doesn't even cast magic missiles!" the half-elf snapped. "What's the worst that can happen anyway?"

Xan turned a shade of purple. "YOU ALMOST ELECTROCUTED A PRIEST WHOSE HUSBAND HAPPENS TO OWN THE FRIENDLY ARM INN! I had to wipe out her memory of the incident _and_ the memory of four guards!"

He launched into a verbal assault. "Suppose Imoen got hurt? Suppose you had indeed struck her in the face, and disfigured her for life?

"It's one thing to be reckless but do you even pause for a moment to consider the others around you? Are you truly that selfish? How many more people have to die because of you?

"Is Gorion's death not enough?!"

Viconia was shocked to see the sudden stream of tears flooding down the half-elf's face at the last sentence. Arquen let out a loud sob and turned away from Xan. Imoen tried to put her arms around her sister, tears starting to pool in her own eyes, but Arquen pushed passed her roughly to get to the other side of the room. She slid on the floor and leaned a shoulder against the wall, burying her face in her knees.

Xan cursed in elvish, but his face softened considerably.

"Viconia?"

Viconia sat up at the sound of her name.

"I need you and Imoen to give us a moment alone."

Viconia decided it was unwise to anger the elf any further, so she followed Imoen out of the room.

Outside, she took a seat at the settee as Imoen paced the common sitting area nervously. "Arquen's really upset this time," she said quietly, for once looking grim.

"So is the elf, it would appear," Viconia added.

"Yeah, he's livid. I've never seen him so mad since we poured syrup into his boots. She's gonna feel so awful for letting him down." The girl looked in the direction of their room. They could hear muffled voices, but couldn't make out the words. "She holds him in such high regard, you know."

"I would be curious as to why."

"The magic skills he possesses is kinda like Gorion's, our foster father. Brilliant and all. We'd love to do what he does, hence the experiments," Imoen said. She shrugged and exhaled heavily. "We didn't really mean to screw up. We were just hoping to figure some stuff out on our own and, well, just make him go 'wow!' "

Imoen paced the sitting area again, glancing over at the door every other minute. After awhile, she decided to creep over to the door and press her ear against it.

As if on cue, Xan opened the door, and Imoen practically fell into his arms.

"Xan! I'm so, so sorry!" she said in a whimper, tugging the front of his tunic. "Are you still mad? Have you forgiven us? Do you still like us?"

The elf groaned, trying to bat the girl away.

"I would like to warn you not to do this again, but what would be the point?" he grumbled. "You should go to Arquen," he gestured to the room with his head.

Imoen gave him a quick but tight hug – making the elf grunt awkwardly – and disappeared into the room.

The elf went over to the armchair next to Viconia and sat down hard in it. He leaned forwards and pinched the insides of his eyes, muttering under his breath. His body was trembling.

"All done with the counseling session?" Viconia asked.

He looked up at her with tired eyes. "Yes, for the next couple of days. I am fairly certain tonight's reproof would be conveniently forgotten after that, and another session would be due again."

Once more, Viconia couldn't help pondering over the mismatched races, the personality clashes between the hyperactive females and dull males, and the absolute failed logic of friendship and loyalty to such dysfunctional companions.

"My mind burns with this question – what is an elf doing in the company of two humans and a mongrel two hundred years younger than yourself? Isn't it tantamount to running an elven nursery field trip?"

Xan sighed deeply, as if seriously considering the matter. "Conscience, maybe?" he said. "Abandoning them seems almost cruel, like watching a little child drowning in a lake, and walking away because I didn't want to be late for a lunch appointment."

"I would, if it hassles me so."

"That would be wishing you were left to slaughter."

He narrowed his eyes at her. She rolled her eyes at him in retaliation.

His glare disappeared when he flinched and sucked his teeth. Holding out his right hand, he unroll a kerchief that he had tied around it. Only then did Viconia notice that there was a raw and ugly streak of red on his palm running all the way down to his wrist.

"You are wounded! _Again!_" she couldn't help exclaiming.

She grabbed his arm to inspect the wound closer. The skin around it looked very tender. It was an awful burn, one that must've caused the elf a tremendous amount of pain. How did he even manage to keep quiet about it for so long?

"I didn't manage to cast anything to deflect the bolt in time. It was headed straight for Imoen's face," the elf explained. He flinched again and stiffened all his fingers. "Oh, fie! It is like holding a branding iron!"

Viconia casted her third healing spell on him that day.

Xan sighed in relief as the tender flesh on his palm and wrist went back to its normal appearance. Viconia traced her finger over his palm, looking out for any reaction to pain that would mean he required more healing.

"I deeply apologize for making this a habit," he said with another sigh, this time of embarrassment.

"It appears likelier that you would die from a foolish, self-inflicted injury than in battle against your enemies."

"I fear you are right. The only person I haven't suffered an injury from is Rasaad."

The elf paused for a moment. "Come to think of it, it has happened before."

"The moon-child actually wounded you out of jest?"

"Technically it was Imoen's fault. I was standing in front of Rasaad when, for reasons compelling only to her warped mind, she _had_ to find out if he was ticklish in the sides."

He recalled the memory with a grimace. "Turns out he was. He was also greatly startled when she jumped him from behind, and flung a fist in my direction. I had a black eye for five days."

For some reason, Viconia felt like giving the girls a good slap across the face. If only to stop them endangering everyone's lives. In particular, hers, and Xan's. Why Xan's, she wasn't exactly sure. Even if he hadn't reminded her of it, she would always remember how he saved her life. _An elf_ saving her life by putting his own in peril. She would only tell him the contrary, but in truth she felt indebted.

She looked down again at his hand, still bothered by how ugly the burn had looked. And realized she was cradling it.

She let go of his hand quickly.

The elf didn't react and this time, he didn't appear unnerved by her touch, nor did he ask her to leave his presence immediately. In fact, what he really appeared to be was exhausted as he sank back into his seat. There was a heavier burden he was carrying, something that could make him block out physical pain, and people from getting too close.

Viconia was determined to find out what it was.


	3. 3: Rasaad

_NOTES & STUFF: Using some Rasaad-Viconia-Charname dialogue verbatim from BG1:EE. Oh, Rasaad was the NPC who inspired this fanfiction, since he's new to the series and I couldn't find __much smut, I mean__ many stories between the new and old NPCs. Hope you're enjoying this so far. I'll probably have a new chapter up every week. _

* * *

The daily life of a Sun Soul Monk began before dawn in order to welcome the first light of the day as well as to develop a life of discipline. Each day began with a half-hour meditation, which was also the most effective one of the day thanks to a fresh mind and body. Spiritual nourishment, Rasaad believed wholeheartedly, was just as important as eating a hearty meal.

He awoke that morning, however, to the peculiar sight of Xan packing in such a hurry that he was using his foot to cram his spellbook into his overflowing backpack whilst tugging at the flap. After many nights of sharing a room with the elf whenever they stayed at inns, Rasaad had become familiar with the elf's very-late night reveries. Xan's habit of reading books and studying his magic deep into the night usually resulted in him only arising from reverie at sunrise.

"Gather your things!" Xan barked the moment he saw Rasaad sitting up in bed. "We're leaving now!"

Before Rasaad could wipe the sleep from his eye, the elf had already left the room, slamming the door behind him. He couldn't figure out a reason for the sudden sense of urgency, but he shaved as quickly as possible and grabbed his backpack, ninjato and the wakizashi Arquen had gifted to him from the floor. Unlike the others, he owned very few possessions and he always kept everything packed in order, even when he was tasked with carrying the spare heavy armors and weapons.

Downstairs at the tavern, he was surprised to see all the women prepared for the road. Especially Imoen, who normally didn't emerge from her room until the morning nearly over if they were staying at an inn. But here she was, leaning against the table with a hand over her backpack, all ready to go.

"Nursing a hangover, moon-child?" Viconia asked as he joined the group.

"I do not drink any substances that may harm my senses," Rasaad told her. Never had, never would.

"Why, I never would have guessed." The drow rolled her eyes at him.

Her remark troubled him. Seriously, did he give her the impression that he was a drunkard? Perhaps he should to stop lingering in taverns after nine o'clock at night, if that would set a better example.

Over at the bar, Arquen and Xan were speaking to Bentley. "Very well. I shall hand this note to the Harpers if they stop over," Bentley was saying as he tucked Arquen's note into his pocket.

"I don't blame you for not sticking around. Just when you thought the iron crisis was bad, there is foul magic about," he continued, shaking his head. "Last night, my missus came upon three shadow creatures of sorts. Don't know where they came from nor where into the darkness they fled, but they managed to elude the guards and infiltrate the temple, they did.

"My poor, dear Gellana," the gnome wiped a tear from his eye, "she remains in bed this morning with poor health. If not for Garl Glittergold, she could've met with a crueler fate."

Rasaad listened with interest. That could be related to what he heard last night! He had been meditating when he thought he heard the sound of a single thunder clap. He had thought it strange that it occurred on such a clear night, and that a storm did not follow.

"I WILL KILL THOSE BASTARDS FOR WHAT THEY DID TO MY WIFE!" Bentley declared, slamming his fists on the counter so hard that a wine bottle toppled over and smashed on the floor.

Xan coughed as he stepped away from the broken glass and growing puddle of spilt wine. "We best be on our way," he said to Bentley, and gave Arquen a hard push towards the direction of the door.

"Shouldn't we stay to investigate this matter and provide some assistance?" Rasaad tried to stop the elf by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No!" Xan said sharply, jerking Rasaad's hand away and raising a finger at him like reprimanding an offending puppy. Which meant any interference into the affairs of the Friendly Arm Inn was strictly out of the question.

In that askance manner, they left the inn and headed south.

"To Beregost," according to Imoen, but she didn't explain why they were going there, even when he asked. Rasaad thought she was uncharacteristically quiet that morning as he strolled at the back of the group with her. Usually she had plenty to say to him, and he mostly enjoyed her lively chatter (except when he was meditating), but today she walked with her head lowered, eyes fixed on the road.

He looked ahead to see the hooded Viconia several feet in front of Xan. Almost a great distance away was Arquen, who, if she moved any faster, she would have to break into a jog. Another strange sight, as normally he would be the person at the front. Thanks to the Sun Soul Order's training, he was accustomed to walking in big strides and moving swiftly. Marching didn't tire him as much as the others, so he usually scouted ahead in the shadows to keep an eye out for any impending danger, after which he would retreat to the back of the group to do a headcount (occasionally the girls would stray, to pick flowers for instance, or chase a squirrel for a mile or two, and he would have to go in search of them), then head back to the front, and so forth.

He decided to leave Imoen's side to go to her sister instead. Arquen was fast becoming a good friend to him. It troubled him that something might be amiss. Of course he was fully aware that the murder of her foster father loomed over her head in the same way he would always be haunted by Gamaz's death, but there were also the everyday setbacks that he wished for her to avoid. Broken bones from battle, shouting matches, getting drunk, stubbing one's big toe on the foot of the bed ... he always tried his best to prevent such things, and when things did go wrong, to make them right again.

Arquen didn't look up when he fell into step with her, but she did mutter a "hullo". He walked by her side in quiet contemplation for some time. The sun was starting to bathe them with its magnificent rays, the sky so bright in bursts of yellow that they couldn't make out the clouds. He admired the distant horizon where the sky met the lush landscape, and the road that stretched for miles ahead of them.

"It is a lovely day," he started by way of coaxing a conversation out of her.

"It is an extremely hot day," Arquen responded. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.

"As a Sun Soul Monk, I believe that a small fragment of the sun's divine essence resides within me, together with the light of Selune."

Arquen let out a little groan and started fanning herself with her hands. "Could you go easy on the sunshine stories? Maybe tell me something about snowstorms and icy winds instead?"

No allegory involving winter came to his mind, but he thought about his meditations last night, which didn't overly feature the sun.

"Do you ever stop to contemplate the moonlight reflected on water?" he asked her.

"Is this a riddle or something?"

"It's sort of a riddle, for the moon sheds no light on its own," Rasaad explained, happy that he managed to pique her interest as her brisk walk slowed to a more leisurely pace. "What we see as moonlight first came from the sun. From the moon it reflects again off the water before it reaches us."

"You're starting to sound more like an astronomer than a monk," Arquen said with a smile. Rasaad didn't know why, a smile was a smile was a smile after all, but when it was the upturned corners of _her_ lips and the flash of _her_ teeth on _her_ angular face, he could feel his pulse quickening. And it made him want to speak to her about _everything _he was passionate about _– _whether it was Selune or Sun Soul philosophy or the deconstruction of war and peace or the phenomenology of the spirit.

"My training at the Sun Soul monastery included much stargazing. Observing the motion of the moon, the shards, and the stars helped me understand that light connects us all," he told her with great enthusiasm.

"Obviously, not ALL of us," a sharp voice interrupted them from behind.

He looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Viconia hovering at their backs, cheerfully eavesdropping.

"No, no, of course not," he clarified. "Those who dwell in the Underdark are deprived of both sunlight and moonlight."

"We are not the least bit deprived, moon-male. The cloak of Shar envelops us in secrets, and in secrets lies power," Viconia challenged.

"Darkness is a void, the absence of warmth, understanding, and humanity."

" 'Humanity'? You rivvil are so arrogant!" The drow was scowling now.

Rasaad searched Arquen's face for her response, and the half-elf seemed to take on her usual, neutral, non-committal stance. "Viconia has a point," she remarked. "Don't you think so, Rasaad?"

Rasaad reflected on it for a moment, trying to locate a misunderstood line if there had been one and also his own understanding of drow and the teachings of Shar. It wasn't easy to empathize with non-goodly people, but Rasaad had always tried his best to uncover how they came about their point of view. "If you mean her point about human arrogance, I agree we are all afflicted with this flaw to some degree.

"As for her embrace of Shar," he said firmly, "I will never submit to the void."

"Oh, but you should, moon-child." Viconia had now saddled up to his side, as if trying to stop him in his tracks. She bore her gaze into his eyes. There was a grin on her face, a sly one that made her look like she was about to pounce on him like a cat.

"You can begin by submitting to one who can instruct you in the truth that lies in darkness," she continued.

Ever since he heard that the drow was a worshipper of Shar, he had been expecting a discussion such as this. Yet it still made him very uncomfortable. He knew the power of Shar lay in secrets but it was as if she could penetrate his innermost thoughts ... the darkest ones, where he was someone else. Someone a lot stronger. A lot wiser. Someone who could've kept Gamaz alive. The truth and answers that the light refused to provide him could finally be found, even if that meant searching in – and together with – the darkness.

He wished he never had those thoughts. He wished he was repelled instantly by Viconia's offer, instead of hesitant. Nobody else had ever proposed the possibility of following another path before to him, and here he had a willing teacher.

"I ... I think it's time for my meditations," he stammered in the end.

"My, my, but that one flusters easily," Viconia remarked. Like she saw right through him. She was also gazing at him with that amused, teasing look he sometimes saw on Arquen and Imoen, except hers was much more eager, and amorous.

Nobody else had looked at him that way before, and he wasn't even sure if he disliked it entirely.

"Viconia," Xan cleared his throat loudly. "I've got a spell here that may help with your sensitivity to the sun."

Viconia perked up at the news and fell back with the elf. Grateful for being relieved of the conversation that was fast going downhill, Rasaad turned around to give Xan a thank-you nod, to which Xan replied with his why-am-I-doing-this sigh.

Rasaad turned back to the road again and cast a sidelong glance at Arquen, wondering what her views were of the dichotomy between Selune and Shar, light and darkness.

"Now, Rasaad, you were saying...?" She seemed unfazed by his exchange with Viconia, and even gave him an encouraging smile, which instantly restored his mood. Once again, he was glad to have someone around now that Gamaz was gone, someone who reminded him of his spiritual convictions.

He decided to share his favorite illustration from the teachings of Sune, another sect under the Sun Soul Order: "As the monks of Sune put it, the sun blows a kiss to the moon, and the moon blows the kiss down to us. On this point my order agrees: The sweetest light is that which we reflect from others."

"What about your own light?"

Rasaad considered his words carefully. "I try to live by the tenets of the Sun Soul monks. I pray my light reveals the truth in darkness, offers succor to those in need, and obeys all just authority."

_Yes, the light will reveal the truth in darkness, maybe not today, but one day._

"That sounds admirable," Arquen said. With a twinkle in her eye, she next queried, "What light do you see coming from me?"

"Your inner light? To be honest, I have given the matter some thought, and I ... er ... "

He recalled their first meeting in Nashkel. A man had been jeering at him and she had prevented a fistfight by casting a sleep spell on the entire crowd. When he started traveling with the party, she went out of her way to made him feel welcomed, giving him a fine wakizashi, potions, even a box of chocolates. She was now extending the same courtesy towards Viconia, someone who would've been shunned by everyone else.

"The kindness and mercy you have shown to others is more beautiful than moonlight," he told her sincerely.

"Thanks, Rasaad. You're not so bad yourself," she said.

Now he was confused. What did she mean by "You're not so bad yourself?" Did she mean he was not bad in the evil sense, and therefore a good person? Such a compliment embarrassed him though, since it was only a few minutes ago that he was entertaining some rather blasphemous thoughts.

"I ... uh ... thank you Arquen. Hearing that from you means ..."

He paused when he saw her covering her face with a hand. He could see her shoulders trembling.

"You are teasing me again, aren't you?"

"You really can't tell when I'm kidding, can you?" She finished the short fit of concealed laughter behind her hand before fanning herself again and switching back to a more polite expression.

"No, you always surprise me. I suppose that is one of the many reasons I am blessed to know someone like you."

"And I you," Arquen said, compelling him to smile all the way to Beregost.

* * *

"Nope, no Harpers came by," the podgy bartender said when he rose from behind the counter and saw Rasaad standing there.

Rasaad opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, the bartender added, "And I didn't hear any word about an Alorgoth, neither."

Rasaad nodded and thanked the man before leaving the Jovial Juggler.

It was their third morning in the town of Beregost. Every day, they had been stopping by the few taverns and inns to inquire if there were any sightings or word of Jaheira and Khalid. On Rasaad's rounds, he also took the opportunity to ask any new faces he came across about the elusive Alorgoth. No word on anything, so far.

He stepped out of the Jovial Juggler to make his way back to the Feldepost Inn when a little voice quipped, "You're funny looking!"

Rasaad peered down to see three small children staring up at him with goldfish eyes. The eldest boy looked no more than six years of age and had his front teeth missing. On either of his side were a boy and a girl about half his age, both with thumbs still in their mouths.

He squatted down so that he was the same height as them and, smiling gently, he asked, "And why do you say that?"

The older boy told him, "You are balder than my baby brother and your face is covered in ink."

The girl popped her thumb out of her mouth and pointed at the tavern's signpost behind Rasaad. "You look funnier than the picture."

Rasaad turned around to study the signpost that bore the gaudy painting of a jester with a comical face painted in chalk-white, complete with a freakish motley hat. Oh dear … they were comparing him to _that?_ And he looked _funnier?_ He couldn't help but chuckle at their childish honesty.

"Are you one of them from the circus, who does backflips and stuff?" was the next thing they asked him.

"I'm not from the circus, but I can do a backflip for you if you like."

The little faces lit up at the suggestion and three heads bopped up and down excitedly.

Rasaad stood up. "Watch this!" he told them, and leaped onto the banister that lined the front of the tavern. He flipped backwards effortlessly and landed on the ground right beside them. The children clapped and squealed in delight, their opinion of him quickly switching from "you're funny looking" to "you're so amazing!"

He stayed on and played with the children for some time, performing more backflips at their request, followed by frontflips. They told him in excited voices that they had seen him heading over to the Jovial Juggler in the mornings, and thought he was a performer or freak show of sorts, according to their understanding of the signpost's picture. They then asked him to show them how to do a handstand, which all of them tried to do in a row with their short legs up against the banister. Soon their friends came running over as Rasaad obliged them with a lesson on somersaults.

"So _this_ is the extent of your investigative skills!"

A dry voice said upon Rasaad's demonstration of a spinning hook kick. The children had asked him to differentiate what a monk could do that a clown couldn't.

He turned to see Xan standing next to a girl with a cherubic face and pigtails. The enchanter had a disapproving look on his face as he folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.

"What are you doing over here?" Rasaad asked, patting a boy on the head to dissuade the inquisitive one from pulling off his bracelets.

"I was taking a walk, and couldn't help but notice that half the town's pre-school population was gathered in front of a tavern as if the age limit has suddenly been reduced to three."

Rasaad realized then that there were indeed over a dozen small children surrounding him now, all glancing back and forth between Xan and him as they spoke.

"The show is over for today," Rasaad told the kids, causing a chorus of boos at Xan's direction. Someone threw a stone at the elf and it bounced off his circlet. In an attempt to subdue the disappointed faces and glares, Xan brandished his moonblade and started running his fingers across the shimmering blade.

Rasaad really, _really_ hoped Xan wasn't doing this to threaten the kids.

"Do you really need to spend so much time drawing attention to yourself?" the elf grumbled as Rasaad pried the last toddler away from hugging his leg with doting affection. "Didn't you preach an entire sermon on top of a crate the last time we were here?"

"I didn't mean to dally, I assure you," Rasaad said as they started their walk back to the Feldepost Inn. "It's just … the children reminded me of my own childhood in Calimport. Being an orphan in the streets, I used to watch with great envy the children at play with adults."

Rasaad was very fond of children, especially the urchins wandering the streets on their own, whether from orphaned poverty or parents who simply chose to be absent. Whenever a child peered at him with interest – and many of them did as monks were generally an uncommon sight – he would stop to give them a few minutes of his time. With the beggar kids, he couldn't always give them a gold piece, but he knew from his past that there was something equally if not more precious that he could give: time and undivided attention. That a kindly stranger cared enough to play with them, make them laugh, and dote on them … he knew they would remember the incident fondly for weeks to come.

"It may sound odd, but with little ones, there is value to the act of love and self-worth, or their opposites, rejection and shame. Immeasurable in gold, but such acts have a more lasting impression than the satisfaction of a single meal."

Rasaad glanced at Xan a hear his comment, but the bored look on the elf's face was more expressive than if he had said, "Rasaad, haven't you realized you are worth as much as a sewer rat?"

Rasaad decided not to say anything else. He also felt a small pang of foolishness for rambling about his past to Xan, again. The moonblade wielder cum Greycloak cum enchanter cum chronically depressed elf was obviously of aristocratic lineage. It was likely he would never experience life on the streets and understand what it meant to beg, serve and steal, to carve out a pitiable existence.

"I am planning to depart for High Hedge this noon. I should be back tomorrow if no bandits or beasts waylay my course," Xan said.

Glad the elf still wanted to talk, Rasaad asked, "What's in High Hedge, Xan? Perhaps I could accompany you."

"Why not? The more the merrier in death. As for our destination, should we survive the journey, there is powerful mage with an extensive collection of scrolls and magical items."

Back at the Feldepost Inn, they found Arquen and Imoen in the middle of a chess game.

"Any news?" Arquen looked up eagerly from her seat. Rasaad shook his head and Arquen sighed. But when Xan told her about his plans for High Hedge, her expression lit up again.

"Great! It'll be a nice change of scenery!" Arquen quipped.

"Actually, I would highly suggest that only Rasaad and I go. You ought to remain here with Imoen and Viconia, to stay out of trouble."

"But, why?" Arquen's face fell again and she pouted.

Xan sighed. "Weren't you paying attention to the last thing I said? … Never mind. We will be dealing with a mage who has the reputation of being highly strung –"

Imoen interrupted him by coughing out the words "pot" and "kettle".

"– and the presence of a drow might offend him. Viconia obviously cannot stay here by herself as she doesn't know what Jaheira and Khalid look like, and you cannot expect her to answer the door without drawing unwanted attention."

Imoen pointed at Rasaad. "What about Rasaad? _He_ can stay in the same room with Viconia for one night!"

"GODS! NO!" both Arquen and Xan shouted … as if the very idea of him and Viconia in a room together was unthinkable … Rasaad didn't know why though. Obviously he could defend himself against the drow with a snap to the neck. If she wanted to speak to him about her worship of Shar again, he would simply lay down the two hundred points of Sun Soul apologetics this time. What else could she possibly do to him inside a bedroom?

"It still doesn't make sense why all five of us can't just go together," Imoen said sharply. "You're trying to get away from us, aren't you, Xan? And trying to rope poor innocent Rasaad in with you!" She wagged an accusing finger at the elf.

Xan covered his face with his hands and started massaging the sides of his head. He counted one to ten in elvish under his breath. "Can the both of you _please_ just stay here? Or at least _one_ of you?" he implored.

Fortunately for the enchanter, the second option seemed to appease the girls, and they turned the decision of who should go into a game. Arquen took out a silver coin and balanced it gingerly on the back of her thumb. "I'll flip you for it, okay?," she told Imoen. "_Heads_, I win! _Tails_, you get to go on the wild excursion to High Hedge!" She flicked the coin high into the air.

It landed with a 'plink' on the floor, with _heads_ facing upwards.

"Aw …" Imoen looked crestfallen.

"Looks like the boys and I will be visiting the glorious wilderness of High Hedge! Now go fetch my things!" Arquen announced, retrieving the coin.

"Hey! Since when did I become your servant?" Imoen asked with an incredulous look on her face.

"Oh, didn't you read the disclaimer to the contest? The loser also has to submit to humbly serving the winner in the preparations for the trip!"

"Bully!" Imoen gave her sister a punch on the arm but skipped off to their room all the same. Xan excused himself to pack, leaving Rasaad and Arquen in the common room.

"Don't you need to pack?" Arquen asked him, as she carried on a solitary game of flicking the silver coin into the air and catching it at the back of her hand.

Rasaad shrugged. "It will only take me a minute. All I have to do is get my backpack and swords."

"I honestly don't know how you manage it. We have to unload everything in order to find anything," she remarked as she balanced the coin on her thumbnail.

Rasaad watched the coin flipping in the air, and thought there was something peculiar about its design. He waited for Arquen to flick it again, then snatched the coin in mid-air.

"Hey!" Arquen cried. She jumped from her seat in an attempt to snatch the coin back, but he merely grabbed her wrist and twisted her around. She had never been able to break free of any of his armlocks whenever they trained in combat together, and he was a foot taller than she was so it was easy to avoid the flailing punches and kicks she was throwing his way.

He inspected the coin with his free hand, and just as he suspected, the reason it looked strange was because it was double-sided with _heads_ on both sides.

"I cannot believe you just deceived your own sister!" Rasaad stared at the offending coin and back at her.

He released his hold on her and she pounced on his fist, prying his fingers loose one by one to free the coin.

"Oh, come on now. I do it all the time. I'm more surprised that Imoen hadn't figure it out," she said nonchalantly when the coin was back in her possession.

"Arquen, it just isn't right..."

"Fine, you wuss. If you really feel so bad about it, I'll just let Imoen go instead. I'll even apologize for cheating. Happy?"

"But I do want you to go!" Rasaad blurted out, before he realized how dishonorable it made him sound. He should _not_ be preferring her over Imoen, or Viconia for that matter. As the battle frontliner of the group, he was honor-bound to watch over all three of them equally.

"Then there's nothing wrong with tweaking things in our favor, is there?" She gave him a mischievous wink that made him feel both elated and guilty at the same time.

Imoen came skipping back right then with the backpack, which she dropped at Rasaad's feet. Arquen's expression fell back into formation as if she had just been talking about the weather.

"Have fun, you two!" Imoen told them cheerfully, giving Arquen a hug. "Don't become one and come back with three!"

Now what did Imoen mean by that? Were they planning on meeting someone new in High Hedge?

* * *

The three of them spent the rest of the day hiking westwards from Beregost through a well-trodden forest trail.

Rasaad couldn't help but notice how their journey was a lot less ... stressful (Xan would say "restrained pandemonium") without the presence of Imoen and Viconia. As he admired the serene forest landscape around them, he imagined it to be a beautiful scenic painting. Imoen would've been a garish splatter of hot pink handprints, and Viconia the burnt black edges still threatening to engulf the entire canvas in flames.

_Er ... That was a most unkind thought. Selune forgive me._

He looked over his shoulder at Arquen. How she seemed a lot more ... mellow (Xan would say "of sound mind") on her own. She was walking next to Xan, chatting about spells and proposing scrolls they should purchase from High Hedge. The elf, too, appeared more animated than usual and waved his hands about as if to illustrate the spellcasting.

Rasaad would've liked to have been a better conversation partner, alas he knew very little about magic. Imoen had asked him before about how he became an "instant torchbearer" and created his "doughnut of fire". His explanation that Sun Soul Monks could "emanate rays of light onto those drenched in darkness" made no sense to her. Then Arquen had asked if he was "perpetually on heat" and when he answered "I suppose so", they didn't stop laughing at him for a tenday. He never figured out why, but after that distressing experience, he shied away from all talk of magic.

So he fell into the role of scouting in the distance ahead, and that was when he ran into the gnolls' ambush.

As the trail widened towards the southwest and the stone towers of the High Hedge Estate came into distant view, a pack of six gnolls sprang from behind the trees to block his path. Rasaad was surprised that he didn't hear them earlier as gnolls were not known for moving silently, until the leader of the pack pointed its halberd at him and growled, "Smells like dinner."

Unfortunately he wasn't able to detect the scent of gnolls as well as the beasts could smell humans. Only up this close as the pack surrounded him, could he smell their dog breath and grimy fur.

They charged at him and he skittered through the pack, leaping onto the poles of their halberds to deliver swift kicks to their snouts and ricocheting himself around so that the gnolls, though quick creatures themselves, hesitated to strike out because they seemed to keep coming face to face with their own in the circle instead of the slippery monk they thought they had cornered.

In a moment, a dizzying burst of vivid colors swept over the pack as Xan joined the battle, blinding most of them. Arquen launched couple of magic missiles to take down the first gnoll.

Three gnolls gnashed their teeth and took off after the interfering spellcasters, leaving Rasaad to wrestle with the blinded leader, now swinging wildly with his halberd as his henchman tried desperately to grab the monk.

A few seconds later, Rasaad left one beast with a jaw snapped to its chest and the other with half its head bashed in. A couple of hundred feet away, Xan sheathed his moonblade and stepped over two still-jerking corpses.

Then Arquen's scream filled the air. Rasaad and Xan looked around quickly to realize that a gnoll was still missing from the pack and so was Arquen. Dread overwhelmed him as he rushed towards the direction of her screams ahead of Xan.

He found her dragged some distance away into the wild foliage, pinned down by the bulky beast with its pawed foot on her shin. The gnoll jerked her arm backwards awkwardly and was about to lean in for a bite. Its other filthy hand was gripping, of all places, the back of her thigh much too far up to keep Rasaad from flying into a hysterical rage.

"Let her go, dog!" Rasaad screamed.

The gnoll snapped it head up, and darted its gaze from Rasaad to the fast-approaching Xan. Realizing the rest of its pack was most likely dead, it dropped the half-elf's arm and fled with a howl.

Rasaad rushed over to Arquen and pulled the half-elf to her feet. She was visibly shaking in his arms. He brushed her long hair aside, swept a leave off her cheek, and saw that her face was streaked with tears and terror.

That beast almost hurt her. _He_ let the beast almost hurt her.

The gnoll had ran off to the south. He let go of Arquen and charged in its direction. He could hear Xan shouting after him – "Let it go, Rasaad!" – but no, he was going to hunt that beast down and shatter its skull into pieces!

Trees zipped past him and he kept an arm up in front of his face to push all the branches out of his way as he sprinted through the wilderness. Gnolls were fast creatures, but so was he. Eventually the trees broke away into a clearing, and he stopped to get a better sense of where the gnoll may have fled to.

He needn't had bothered, as the runaway gnoll re-emerged on its own accord, having regrouped with another two of his pack closer to their own campsite. All three gnolls growled menacing at him, dripping saliva as they surrounded their dinner. Rasaad raised his fists in return to coax the gnolls into making the first strike, ready to beat the foul beasts down to a pulp.

Then a pale, smooth arrow slammed itself into the runaway gnoll's temple, and the beast fell limped to the ground on its side.

Two more arrows followed within seconds of each other with deadly accuracy, hitting the second gnoll in its chest, and the third in its neck.

Surprised with the interception, Rasaad looked towards the direction where the arrows had appeared from, preparing himself to deflect an arrow shot if it came. It was difficult to see beyond the dense trees and bushes, until a bush shook and a camouflaged leg stepped out. Positioned in front of it was the deadly longbow, with an arrow in place and aimed at Rasaad. Rasaad put his hands up in a sign of peace but ready to disarm the bow or snatch the arrow in a split second if he needed to.

The camouflaged figure stepped out further into the clearing, and Rasaad recognized it to be an elf, though this particular elf and Xan were as different as night and day. He bore tribal tattoos on his forehead and chin, with wild, uncombed hair. His clothes resembled the colors of the forest, with a frayed cloak that made him appear even more of a wild man.

"Well met. Thank you for your aid in killing these foul beasts," Rasaad said. The elf fixed an intense gaze on him, unspeaking, then darted to the direction of Arquen's voice calling out for Rasaad.

The half-elf came running over, with Xan trying to keep up behind. Rasaad momentarily forgot about the wild elf's presence as he shifted his attention to Arquen. Was she still in shock from the gnoll's encounter? Her legs weren't wounded if she could still run. He could still see dirt and tear stains on her cheeks and neck though, which he desperately wanted to wipe away, as much as he wanted to wipe away her memory of the entire incident so that she could never recall almost being mauled by a gnoll ... but ... how?

If there had been an opportunity for him to do something, it slipped away when she stopped a few feet from him to regard the wild elf with interest. "I couldn't get the spell out in time to stop the gnoll," she said to Rasaad, keeping her eyes trained on the new elf, who finally lowered his bow. Xan reached the group, a little short of breath though he kept his chin up to show a more dignified impression.

"I was thanking this elf for lending us his bow," Rasaad told his companions. Xan looked at his fellow kin and addressed him in elvish. The elf responded in a gruff voice. They exchanged a few words, neither looking thrilled or put off by the other, or even friendly though they were kinsmen.

The wild elf turned to Rasaad and Arquen again. "What foolishness takes city dwellers this far from civilization?" he asked in Common.

Rasaad considered pointing at Xan, but associating "Xan" with "foolishness" seemed rather offensive so he held his tongue as well as finger to let Arquen or Xan to speak instead.

Arquen came forward and stepped into her role as leader of the group. "We're adventurers, on the lookout for evil to smite," she said in a loud, bold voice. Even Rasaad could tell she sounded odd and was still at the edge of her nerves. A guise to mask her earlier feelings of terror. He wished again that he could be closer to her still instead of standing by her side.

The elf appeared to like what he heard though. "A strange coincidence! I have a quest similar to your own," he said, giving all of them a half-smile. "I have been hunting the bandits in the region for the past few months."

Arquen's eyes lit up at the knowledge of having a common enemy.

"Perhaps if we worked together we would fare better. What say you to that?"

Arquen turned to Rasaad with eager turquoise eyes. For her sake, he smiled back at her and nodded. They would certainly need the strength of more able fighters.

Xan spoke next with a raise of his hand, and speaking Common for the benefit of all. "We'll help you against the bandits, but only if you tell us why you've spent months hunting them."

The elf's brown eyes flashed intensely again. "Their leader, an ogre named Tazok, took the life of someone very dear to me," he said with a growl.

_Tazok_ … The sound of that name cast a shadow over Arquen's face. They hadn't even exchanged names with the elf yet, but already it felt as if they shared a bond and deep understanding, of what it meant to lose someone precious in their lives, and what it meant to find the people responsible for that lost.

As Xan elaborated some details in elvish, no doubt about their knowledge of the bandits, Rasaad felt something soft finding its way into his hand. He looked down to see Arquen's hand searching for his, tightening her grip around his fingers as she listened and nodded grimly with the elves. Whether she was fully aware that she was holding his hand or doing it unconsciously, he wasn't sure. If Imoen were here, she could very well be holding onto her sister for support instead. Or if Xan had been the one standing next to her, would she have sought his hand too?

Apart from not being familiar with the elven tongue, Rasaad wasn't familiar with such ... physical contact.

Whatever it may be, she had reached out to him, for comfort and support it seemed, and he wanted her to know that he was always going to be there to provide it, in the manner in which she so desired. He squeezed her hand back, and then, somewhat guided by impulse, stroke her soft skin gently with his thumb.

Their meeting with the ogre-blooded Tazok would come soon, that much he could understand. With the help of the elf who appeared no less than an accomplished marksman to their party, they were ready to press forward to the bandit camp as soon as they were done in High Hedge and returned to Beregost to pick Imoen up.

And Viconia. He _almost_ forgot they had Viconia with them now.


	4. 4: PC

_NOTES & STUFF: It was much harder to write PC's POV. I hope this works out. _

* * *

Above them, the clouds started to break as they approached Beregost.

_A sign things are looking up,_ Arquen thought with a smile as she combed her fingers through her long blonde hair, tucking the loose strands behind her slightly-pointed ears (yup, that must be the primary use for elvish ears – keeping long hair away from the face).

She might not be some veteran commander of soldiers, but she was only twenty-one years old, and already leading an elite party of kobold slayers and bandit scalp collectors! Who needed Jaheira to nag and push people around? Some of the books she read in Candlekeep shed enough light on leadership qualities, such as that tomb_ How to Win Friends and Influence People_. And at this present moment, she had acquired the arms of three very able men, all marching back to Beregost with her in aid of her mission.

So very able men, and fine-looking too!

The first was Rasaad, who had now been in her company the longest since she left Candlekeep (apart from Imoen, of course). Having handed over his scouting job to their new elf companion, the monk now strolled by her side, carrying her backpack for her without complaint and breaking into a dashing smile every time she glanced sideways and met his soft brown eyes. She trailed the line patterns of his tattoos again with her eyes, focusing on the line and series of dots that curved around the side of his neck. By force of habit, her gaze dropped lower to the spiral knot tattoos on his chest, then traveled lower still to his six packs long after his series of tattoos had ended.

That damn holy man really had no idea how he looked like shirtless!

Arquen even dared to say that the female marauders they had encountered so far probably fought badly due to being distracted by his half-nakedness, or, knowing they had no chance of walking away from the battle alive, purposely threw themselves at the monk to be grappled by him, dying a blissful death in the hands of someone that beautiful. Now if only he had some sense of money – she and Imoen would have fought tooth and nail over him a long time ago.

"Man does not live on bread alone," he once told her. But she clearly wasn't a man, and she _lived_ for her bread, in both forms. Both flour _and_ gold.

And so she and Imoen would wait, for that knight in shining armor (worth over five thousand gold pieces, at least) to show up, riding a white steed (from his own stable grounds).

The second candidate was Xan, the gloomy moon elf walking on the other side of her with a figurative raincloud over his head. What he was so depressed about, Arquen had no idea. Their trip to the High Hedge Estate had been extremely fruitful. They'd purchased plenty of new scrolls to study, as well as two new wands to summon monsters to their aid should they face more bandits than they could handle. Arquen also managed to relieve the bad-tempered Thalantyr the Conjurer of a brand new magical robe, which she kept hidden in her backpack and would never tell Xan.

"The majesty of the forest makes me feel insignificant," the enchanter sighed, when Arquen asked him what was on his mind. He fixed his eyes on the trail ahead and plodded along. Even though his eyes were perusing the despair of the polluted earth, trampled creatures and leaves all dead on the ground, she knew he was also running over spells and investigative reports to the Greycloaks in his head.

Over in the looks department, Xan was the _prettiest_ man Arquen had ever seen. His gorgeous features were refined by his elegant purple robes, the jeweled circlet that framed his angular features and, of course, the sword belt that hugged his lanky frame and carried the impressive moonblade. In this sense, he rated closer to the ideal man than Rasaad, because the elf had _class_. If only gagging him to stop his constant whinging wouldn't render him useless ….

Arquen's thoughts were interrupted by Rasaad breaking away from her side to rush over to Kivan, beseeching the wild elf to lower his bow and arrow ("there is no threat in civilization, Kivan!") against the town crier as they entered the grainy streets of Beregost.

Ah, Kivan of Shilmista ... the third and newest contender for the party's most eligible but untouchable bachelor. He was as wild as wild men could go without regressing into the state of a gibberling. The elf shifted his gaze about restlessly as he regarded the buildings as if they were ancient tombs, crates and barrels as if they were logs and boulders, and the townsfolk like various species of animals. With his frayed cloak and leaves sticking out of his hair, he looked a riot walking next to the tattoo-splattered half-naked human.

When they reached the doorsteps of the Feldepost Inn, Kivan stood at the steps and narrowed his eyes at the entrance as if it were a trap. Arquen followed Rasaad inside as Xan tried to coax the wild elf into the inn, in the same manner of one who was attempting to lure a wild stallion into a stable, including snapping his fingers and saying _"come on now, don't be afraid, come inside"_ in elvish.

Arquen decided to let Xan tame the wild elf so that she could return to Imoen first. Even though they had only been apart for one night, she missed her sister dearly. When she reached their room, she knocked on the door eagerly.

Apparently just as eager to welcome her back, Imoen was at the door within seconds. "I sure miss ya!" Imoen cried happily, throwing her arms over her.

Arquen hugged her sister back tightly, somewhat filled with relief that nothing bad had happened to her in the company of Viconia. The drow was sitting cross-legged on her own bed. She looked up briefly to acknowledge their presence, then went straight back to filing her nails.

Rasaad let himself into the room to unload Arquen's backpack at the foot of her bed. While he was there, he straightened the pillow and smoothed the blanket.

"And how do you fare, Rasaad?" Imoen asked, turning to him.

"Very well. You would be pleased to know that Arquen and I heeded your earlier words, and we now have another with us!" Rasaad announced in that pleasant tone of his.

Imoen's jaw fell to the floor and her eyeballs popped out of their sockets as she stared at the monk, looking as if she had been hit by a stun, freeze and horror spell all at once.

"COMPLETE MISUNDERSTANDING!" Arquen said sharply, clapping Imoen hard on the back as Imoen placed a hand on her chest, taking rapid breaths and appearing to go into heart palpitations at the thought of Rasaad banging up her sister. "What Rasaad meant to say was we have a new companion to our GROUP!"

Quickly, she looked out the door to search for Kivan and Xan outside. ("Imoen, what just happened?" she heard Rasaad ask. "Nothing happened, that's what happened! Nothing!" Imoen replied in a shrilled voice.)

"Kivan, why don't you come inside to meet our other friends!" Arquen waved him in. Kivan, still eyeing his four-wall surroundings wildly, lowered his bow to fit it through the doorway. He stepped into the room and shifted his eyes around.

The elf saw the drow.

The drow saw the elf.

The elf let out a roar and drew his bow and arrow.

The next thing they knew, Viconia had dived under her bed as the arrow clipped her nail file into two.

Kivan roared again and pulled out his long sword, flying over to the drow and flipping the bed up with one hand in a mighty display of strength. Viconia screamed and leapt across to the other side of room. More beds overturned, chairs flew, feathers burst out of pillows into the air, a vase smashed into the wall, and someone threw the washbasin through the window, shattering it.

Imoen stood in the centre of the room, staring back and forth at Kivan and Viconia leaping over, under and through furniture with a stunned expression. Not as dramatic as the shock she had when Rasaad mistakenly declared he had sex but shocked enough that she didn't move an inch. The rest of them too could only stand by and watch Kivan in mad pursuit of Viconia.

Viconia managed to survive the entire chase, at the end of it dodging behind Rasaad to make him her human shield. She pulled the surprised man into a hostage position backwards with her until they were both pressed against the corner, then held on to his body for dear life. The only way for Kivan to get to her now was pierce his blade through the monk.

"Die, dark witch!" Kivan shouted through Rasaad, pacing back and forth in front of them predatory style, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"I've done nothing wrong!" Viconia cried from behind the monk.

Rasaad stood there looking mostly molested, but also tormented between upholding his role as protector, and wanting to toss Viconia onto the sacrificial altar himself.

In the end the Selunite spoke up for the Sharran. "She's right, Kivan. She hasn't done anything wrong … that we know of." He raised his hands to get the violent elf to lower his long sword.

"It is madness for us to ally ourselves with the drow. She is evil!" Kivan spat.

"Calm down, Kivan!" Xan said sharply. He stepped over the smashed furniture – tripping slightly on a piece of cracked wood – and put his hand on Kivan's shoulder. The wild elf shifted his gaze slightly to acknowledge his kinsman.

He growled in elvish. _"We betray our kin by associating with the evil race, the foul worshippers of Lloth."_

_"The drow is an exile, and not a worshipper of Lloth but Shar."_

_"A worshipper of Shar? And here you have a Selunite? Surely he will be slain, if not corrupted by the darkness!"_

_"The Selunite can defend himself,"_ Xan glanced over at Rasaad, who blinked at him with a blank look. _"His faith is strong and unwavering. He speaks about it, even in his sleep."_

_"My rage cannot be denied. Is this our only way to Tazok?"_ Kivan shut his eyes. He heaved his shoulders heavily. _"I shall restrain my instincts if your wisdom guides us down this path. I only wish to find Tazok."_

Xan nodded as he squeezed Kivan's shoulder, shooting a stern look at Arquen, who bit her lip. The enchanter didn't look away until she nodded back. _Kivan's soul is being tortured,_ he wanted her to understand.

Xan added in Common, so that all in the room would understand his following words.

"If the drow crosses us, I swear by the Seldarine I will cut her heart out myself."

The tone of his voice was unlike any other emotion Arquen had heard from him before. Chilling to the bone, and he looked Viconia dead in the eye as he uttered them.

The drow stepped out from behind Rasaad. "I thank you for your _mercy._" Despite the seriousness of the situation, Arquen detected a trace of sarcasm, but also acknowledgement that the drow had to watch herself in Kivan's presence.

Kivan let out a growl and turned around, pushing past Arquen roughly as he tried to exit the room. Arquen turned around to follow him.

And saw that crowd had gathered outside the room. Other inn guests with busybody faces and, more notably, the innkeeper as he pushed his way past the crowd.

"WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS HAPPENED HERE?"

The fat innkeeper cupped his face with his hands tightly at the sight of the overturned, broken furniture, smashed-in walls, and raindrops drifting in now that the window was gone.

"I can explain ... " Arquen started.

"You bet your tiny arse you better."

Arquen opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Excuses raced through her mind. _There was a huge venomous hairy spider? A substance-abusive orgy that got completely out of hand? Poltergeists?_

She looked to the others for help, imploring especially to Xan to cast his charm spell over the whole crowd. It was only about twenty people. It should be child's play for the enchanter, right? Right?

Xan shook his head.

"I take it back. I can't explain."

"Here's a better suggestion," the innkeeper said through seething teeth as he demonstrated the most outstanding display of self-control. He had gone a bit cockeyed from witnessing the destruction of the room but he managed to pull the cockeye back apart and turned a shade of purple instead. "Why don't the lot of you get out and never, ever set foot into this inn again?"

* * *

"Sooo ... we've got two elves who obviously loathe drow, and the feeling's pretty much mutual," Imoen was saying.

Arquen nodded, chewing on her thumbnail nervously.

"In fact Kivan looks like he might gut Viconia any second now," Imoen continued, looking over at the campfire, where Kivan, Xan and Viconia were attempting to prepare supper together as part of a team-building exercise.

"Yup."

"And then there's our goody-two-shoes monk."

"Uhuh."

"Who worships Selune, who, if I'm not wrong, is the arch enemy of Shar."

"Uhuh." Arquen swapped her depleted thumbnail for another fingernail.

"Whom Viconia worships."

"Oh yes she does."

"And you reckon we are gonna live happily ever after?"

Kivan had been hunting bandits with them for five days now. _Five whole days _of being in the company of Viconia.

Another argument erupted just then near the campfire as Kivan shouted, "She's trying to poison us all!" Arquen and Imoen turned to see the wild elf raising a hand threateningly at Viconia. Xan raced over and tackled him to the ground to stop the attack.

"Stupid elf! It's just pepper! The stew tastes like your urine without it!" Viconia shouted, throwing a handful of black peppercorns at the surface elves.

"Silence your tongue, she-demon!"

"Go wrestle a dire bear, you zoophile!"

Xan held Kivan by the shoulders, speaking rapidly. _"Calm down, Kivan! Do not be so easily provoked! You were once married – haven't you learnt that you'll never win an argument against a woman?"_

Frustrated, Kivan turned his heels and stomped off into the wilderness.

Sighing, Xan turned to Viconia, who stood with her arms crossed, ladle still in hand. "I did nothing wrong. You are fully aware," she said with a huff.

"I know, Viconia, I know." He looked at her again, closed his eyes and shook his head.

He started walking over to Arquen, who sighed at Imoen and braced herself for another lecture.

"I implore you to ask the drow to leave this group," Xan said slowly, folding his arms. "I never thought our band could get anymore pitiable, but it appears we are one step from getting shot in the knee by a wild elf's arrow."

"That is _so _peculiar. I always thought the _dark_ elf would be the one to double-cross us," Arquen said with as much sarcasm in her voice as she could muster. She believed her comment, too.

Xan narrowed his eyes at her.

Oh, so he wanted a glaring contest? She shot turquoise eye daggers at him for one good long unblinking minute. Beside them, Imoen cleared her throat three times and hissed, "That's so childish, both of you!" but they ignored her. When her eyes started to crackle from dryness, when she could sense Xan about to cheat with his enchanter abilities (his lips were moving, mumbling a spell no doubt to power-up his glare), when she knew she couldn't win, she reminded him, "I am the leader. I get the last say."

"Then I shall abandon you to your fate."

Arquen gasped. How could he! Blackmail! "Xan, you can't leave us!" she cried, blinking furiously to restore the proper use of her tear ducts.

"If you want to play at being ruler of our little band, then let us do this democratically, shall we? Kivan and I vote for the drow's dismissal. Why don't you go find out what everyone else thinks?" That said, the enchanter stalked off in what Arquen thought looked like an arrogant swagger.

Arquen watched Xan go back to salvaging their dinner and heaved her shoulders as she let out a heavy sigh. Weren't things starting to look up? Why was it so damn hard? Was this the reason one of her unknown biological parents bred with a human? She turned to Imoen, who gave her a crooked smile and sighed along with her.

"What would you vote for, Immy?" Arquen asked.

Imoen shrugged. "You know me, I'll stand by you all the way. Viconia's alright by me. Catty, yes, but I can't bring myself to hate her. Plus she's shown herself to be a good cleric."

"So Rasaad makes the deciding vote then?"

"That's gonna be a tough one to buy. Viconia _despises_ him."

"That doesn't mean he hates her back."

"I know he's kind of dense, but he's not _that_ dense. You're asking him to be a masochist here."

Arquen sighed again, at the risk of becoming like Xan.

Imoen patted her arm. "But you should ask him anyway. At least he'll know you care about what he thinks."

"Okay, let's go find the monk."

"No-o. Not with me. You should speak to him alone."

"Why?"

Imoen gave her a wink. "Trust me. Speak to him alone." Her sister nodded somewhat fervently next. "It's not just his vote you need."

Arquen thought it all a little strange, but since Imoen was so insistent about it, she went to look for their final voter by herself.

She found him in a clearing some distance away from the campsite, a solitary hooded figure gazing upon the night sky. Stars sprinkled across the cloudless sky that night, shining brighter than the waxing moon.

"Hey Rasaad, what are you doing way over here?"

She sat down by his side, sitting cross-legged in the same meditative posture as him. His hand was fiddling with something and she was a little surprised to see him twirling a small stick. On the ground in front of him were a bunch of twigs arranged in a set pattern. She'd always thought he was one hundred percent focused on his meditations and not one to idle away.

"The elves were preoccupied, and you were with Imoen," he replied softly, turning to her. "I did not to wish to interrupt or bother anyone, so I thought it best for me to come away." He gave her a small smile, but one she thought that looked a little sad. Like he was sorry for letting her down.

"No one thinks you are a bother, Rasaad," she wanted him to know.

He shrugged and poked at the ground with the stick. "I am always the last person to figure out what's going on, it seems. Growing up on the streets and later the monastery didn't give me much knowledge on the more ... practical matters, let alone cultured matters. I doubt someone like Xan would have the patience to explain things to me in a way I would understand, if they wished to speak to me to begin with."

"Oh, but you don't want to be an old stuffy elf, anyhow. And have you _met_ this other elf by the name of Kivan lately?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind ... Umm, what are you doing?" Arquen pointed at the neatly arranged formation of sticks.

"Oh, just playing with sticks. Xan once asked me about it too. I told him that it was all I remembered ever having to play with when – "

He broke off his sentence and shook his head. "I'm just idling," he said instead.

Arquen felt a little prickle in her chest. She knew what he was about to say. She was an orphan too, but she realized now how much Gorion had doted on her. As far as she could remember, Imoen and her always had matching dolls and toys because they refused to share and were always stealing from each other so whatever Gorion wanted to gift them, he always had to buy in twos. And there were marbles for bullets and cards for gambling and wooden blocks for chewing. Candlekeep sounded like an idyllic childhood compared to what he had.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Rasaad. Your past made you who you are today, which happens to be the sweetest guy I know."

He smiled again, this time a little wider. "You're always so nice to me, Arquen."

Now she felt a pang of guilt, for all those times she shouted at him during her pre-menstrual days, casting magic missiles and other projectiles at him just to test his reflexes, making him do all the laundry just because she knew he'd never say no ... And he _still_ thought she was "nice" to him.

She cleared her throat. "Rasaad, I need your opinion ... your advice, possibly, on a little problem within our group," she started.

"Are you referring to the elves who are on the verge of killing each other, and that Viconia should be dismissed?"

Incredible. For a person who took an average of two days to figure out the punch-line to a joke, the monk was remarkably intuitive when it came to serious and high EQ matters. She nodded.

"You are leader, Arquen. You decide who stays and who goes."

"Xan thinks we should vote on it. So I need yours. I know Viconia hasn't been the nicest person to you. Do you want her to go?"

Rasaad lifted a knee and rested an arm on it as he looked in deep thought. Arquen worried for a moment that he had already formulated a detailed plan in his mind on where to dispose of the drow and how. According to Xan, any Rasaad-Viconia discussion would only end in blood spray.

"I've been thinking about what Viconia said about humanity in the Underdark. I imagine even in darkness, there exists a sense of purpose. Their means to accomplishing this simply happens to be violence, of which we are more morally sensitive to on the surface."

He shrugged. "I suppose we could be like everyone else and shun her, and no one would blame us for it." He turned to her. "Or, we could be different."

"Do you need Viconia, Arquen?" he asked.

Arquen thought about the drow, who had filled in for Jaheira in the last tenday with her healing spells. The drow had a pretty good arm with her sling as well, and though she was nowhere near as strong as the druid in combat, she sure made up for it with her ... enthusiasm in ensuring their enemies were so dead that they could be reanimated as zombies fighting on their side. "I suppose. She's a pretty decent cleric."

"What if I told you that there are many others out there who can aid us?"

"You want Viconia to go then?" Arquen asked, slightly disappointed though it wasn't unexpected.

"No," Rasaad said, making her raise an eyebrow. "I just wondered if you were aware that she needs you more than you will ever need her."

He shrugged again but then gave her a small, warm smile. "But I suppose that's what friendship means.

"In that sense, I would like Viconia to stay. I believe in showing her compassion, not in spite of her drow heritage, but because of it."

This man … was the epitome of goodness. She had stumbled across an angel. Arquen realized how grateful she was to have met him. Even if the world came crashing down tomorrow and she grew Errtu horns and a facial wart the size of a turnip, he would still be her friend.

"Shall we head back to camp, before one of the elves end up in the supper pot?" she said, making him retch slightly at the thought.

They got to their feet and dusted the grass off their clothes, then stood looking into each other's eyes for a moment. Even though the tattoos gave him that tough badass appearance, looking into Rasaad's brown eyes revealed his deep compassion. He also made her feel a little funny inside, like how she would feel after swallowing a bowl of cold jelly whole and letting her stomach deal with the wobble. It was strange to her that a man could make her feel so many different things.

But he was completely unlike those gallant men she read in romance novels! No wavy hair to create that windblown scene – he didn't have _any_ hair. No gorgeous chiseled face with a single dimple on the chin because she would have to paint his face with an inch of makeup to conceal all those tattoos. No wit, no sarcasm, no pick-up lines, no catchphrase, no dirty jokes to make the women blush.

And yet, and yet … she couldn't help finding herself strangely drawn to him ... so she stretched out her arms towards him.

Rasaad remained standing in the same pose, his arms crossed over his chest in that stiff, guarded stance, watching her with a straight face.

_Oh dear, he actually thinks I'm casting a spell._

"Uh, can I have a hug?"

"You want a _hug?_" He gave her one of his befuddled sorry-I-don't-speak-common-Common-language looks. He didn't do hugs, it seemed. Had he never been held? But he obliged as if it were his duty and stepped forward, unfolding his arms, though not appearing to know what to do with his hands. Arquen moved right up to him. Her hands touched his waist lightly as she slid her arms around his back.

He felt warm. Strong yet gentle. His toned, muscular body soft to the touch. How unexpected. How … comforting. She rested her forehead against his chest, trying to sense the rhythm of his heart. Slowly, he figured out that he ought to hold her too, and she felt his hands slide across her back. She lifted her head slightly and buried her nose against his chest. _Just being curious. Just wanting to get to know him a little better._ She breathed into his shirt deeply and was pleasantly surprised that he smelt so clean even after days of camping in the forest, with a faint hint of soap.

Yes, he was always going to be there for her.

"Thanks for being such a good friend, Rasaad," she said softly.

"I ... I thank you, too."

Slowly, reluctantly, they broke apart the embrace and headed back to camp.

* * *

How to piss off an elf royally? Rate a drow who didn't go by the name of "Drizzt" over them! After Arquen _cheerfully_ informed the elves that Viconia was here to stay by favor of the majority, Kivan sulked the whole of the following day as they crossed over from the dense forests of Larswood into the clearings and ponds scattered across Peldvale.

Xan's temper erupted sometime in the late afternoon. "Hos before bros, is that it, Rasaad?" Xan hissed at the monk the minute Viconia stepped out of earshot. The drow had gone to wash her mace at a nearby pond after getting it splattered in blood from their latest run-in with a group of bandits. From his gritted teeth to the pronounced vein in his forehead, Arquen could tell that Xan had been keeping that in for awhile.

"Hoes? Sorry, Xan, I'm not very knowledgeable about farmlands and boroughs." Rasaad said, as clueless as ever.

"Gah! You're hopeless!" Xan threw his hands up in the air. He turned to Arquen, who returned his sneer with a smug smile.

"You wanted everyone's opinion and the majority has voted," she reiterated.

"Betrayed by a lawful good monk!" the enchanter grumbled under his breath as he stomped over to Kivan.

Despite his sulking and growling, Kivan's presence made a positive difference to the group. Sure, Rasaad could scout in the shadows, and possibly swing from tree to tree if they asked him to, but he was no ranger and couldn't read the animal tracks, distinguish wolf from bear dung, and paint with all the colors of the wind. As their encounters with groups of bandits roaming the area grew more frequent, between Kivan and Rasaad most of the bandits were taken down by arrows and stealth even before the rest of them could draw their weapons. Only Viconia continued to fish out her mace to beat at the various fallen bodies just to be doubly sure that it was rigor mortis setting in.

"We slay all who stand in our way to Tazok," Kivan said with a straight face as he set to work cutting off the scalps from the latest bandits. It had been a good way for the group to make some coffers so far. For every bandit scalp, they were paid fifty shiny gold pieces back at Beregost by the Flaming Fist. Where supply outstripped demand at the stores, the buying price was twenty-five gold pieces.

Arquen and Imoen watched him with morbid fascination as the elf sliced a good chunk of scalp off the deceased blonde human. He had cut away more flesh than was necessary, so he dissected it further, then tossed one half into a small sack and flung the other half into the air. An eagle circling overhead swooped down and caught the piece of free snack in midflight. The bird whistled its thanks at Kivan before flying away.

"While we appreciate that it's the most _straightforward_ route, could we try to minimize the carnage we leave in our wake?" Imoen asked, covering her nose with a hand as the mercurial smell of blood permeated the air.

"Is it wrong to kill bandits?" Kivan asked. He moved on to the second bandit, who had long brown dreadlocks. He tugged at three dreadlocks to locate the roots before slicing off the scalp cleanly. He tied the dreadlocks into a figure-of-eight knot before also tossing it into the small sack that contained all the other bandits' scalps.

It grossed Arquen out slightly to do so but she wanted Kivan to understand, so she pointed at the bandit's open eyes that had glassed over in death. "They could have been men with families to feed, and resorted to banditry out of desperation because of the high unemployment rate in Amn."

In an attempt at sensitivity for the girls' sake, Kivan closed the man's eyelids with the tip of his knife. He accidentally jabbed one eyelid a bit too deep though, and it pierced the thin skin instead, then prodded the eyeball when he tried to shake the blade loose. "Just because you have a name and are somewhat domesticated doesn't make you a higher being, especially if you have chosen the path of the fallen and lost all sense of humanity," Kivan muttered as he rolled the bandit onto his stomach.

As far as Arquen could understand, in Kivan's worldview, bandits basically fell into the same species as basilisks, cockroaches, vultures and Viconia – that which couldn't be eaten and could be exterminated without consequence. Deers, ducks, Imoen, Rasaad, Xan and other benign animals may be allowed to thrive, reared and go forth to multiply if so desired.

"I suppose an alternative would be to charm the leaders to hand over the information we need," Xan suggested.

"Even if we sent Rasaad in naked, I doubt he'd get very far," Imoen remarked.

Xan shot her a look. "Banish that filth from your mind! I was referring to actual charm and domination spells, of the enchantment school of magic."

"Oh."

Xan raised his hand to highlight his disclaimer. "Though I wish to state upfront that this method will most definitely fail and all of us will be captured, skinned alive and impaled on stakes from rear to throat."

Arquen groaned. Trust Xan to suggest a fairly intelligent solution and get everyone's hopes up, then crush all morale in the same breath. Not to mention he accidentally just bumped Kivan's shoulder as he stepped over the third dead bandit, causing the ranger to slice off half the man's ear with his sharp knife.

"Ugh," the ranger muttered, then chucked the ear at an ant hill. Arquen watched the ants lift the ear on their ant shoulders in a glee parade before disappearing into their nest with it. He put the last piece of scalp into the sack before tying it, shaking the sack a few times so all the contents wouldn't stick together at the bloodied bottom. He held up the small sack to them, but no one offered to carry it.

When Rasaad came over, naturally the sack went straight to him. The monk turned a little green as he held the sack between two fingers at arm's length.

"You have experience infiltrating the enemies' lines. What do you think we should do, Rasaad?" Arquen asked. She noticed Xan snorting rudely at the monk's presence. The enchanter was obviously going to hold a grudge against the monk for a while.

"We could use stealth and subterfuge to find the information we need, and leave without being detected. Unnecessary fighting can be avoided that way," Rasaad suggested.

"And who will do this? _You?_ You can't even bluff your way out of an _Old Maid_ card game!" Xan said acidly.

"_Enough of this foolishness, brother._ The forest tells me we are very close. We will locate the bandit camp within the hour, before nightfall," Kivan said in Elvish then Common.

It was decided that Kivan and Rasaad would find the bandit's camp, and return with as much as information as they could gather before any decision to battle was made.

"You shall be safe here if you do not show yourselves in the open," Kivan told the rest as they moved to a more secluded part of the forest. "The bandits are wary of the wild beasts, and I have made markings around our site. The animals will not bother you." (Imoen was curious about the markings but Arquen advised her they were better off not knowing.)

Rasaad put down his gear by a tree, and in a rare display of shrewdness, quickly passed the small sack of bandit scalps to Viconia, who nonchalantly tossed it on her pack as if it were a lunch bag.

Taking his ninjato, the monk darted off into the shadows of the forest with the wild elf.

* * *

It was the longest hour she had ever experienced.

Even Imoen seemed anxious, though her sister still managed to digest some pages of her spellbook, unlike herself. Symbols seemed to swirl around the page until they resembled Kivan and Rasaad's tattoo designs, which made her worry about the two men again.

Only Viconia seemed unaffected by the suspense as she snacked on the last of their supply of beef jerky while sitting next to Xan.

Arquen tried to distract herself by watching the enchanter and cleric. Though he claimed otherwise – vehemently – Arquen suspected Xan had actually developed a soft spot for Viconia, extending his clemency in a very unfairly way that wasn't extended to her and Imoen, and was never a consideration for Rasaad.

He appeared a lot more patient around the drow, and presently was content to let her look over his shoulder as he studied his spellbook, even taking the time to explain when she pointed at the page to ask questions like, "What does that symbol mean? The one that looks like a fat halfling parting his legs?"

Didn't he express his sentiment for the drow's dismissal on the day they first met, the night before, and just one hour ago? And now he was letting the drow peek at his _spellbook?_ How hypocritical! Arquen caught Imoen's eye and regarded the enchanter with a glare. Imoen glanced at him, saw his knee knock into Viconia's, met her eye again, and mouthed, "I know!"

Arquen would bet good money that it was likelier that the enchanter was trying to appease Kivan out of some sense of elfish piety, and was more annoyed at Rasaad for not siding with him than actual genuine dislike for the drow.

She felt her gut beginning to twist itself as the hour slipped into two, then three. Night crept upon them and Imoen helped to light a small fire. Even Viconia started to gaze into the distant darkness restlessly after Xan put his spellbook away.

Finally, Rasaad emerged from the darkness like a cloaked wraith, without warning and without so much as a leave rustle. He appeared right behind Xan, causing the elf to jump and almost fall face first into the campfire.

Intense relief washed over Arquen, and she had to restrain herself from throwing her arms over the monk.

"We found the camp," Rasaad said, lowering his hood. "Kivan has remained there to watch for Tazok."

Xan literally jumped to his feet this time. "YOU LEFT KIVAN AT THE BANDIT CAMP?"

"He refused to come back with me! I couldn't get him out of the tree so I hurried back as fast as I could, in half the time it took us to get there!"

"Unacceptable! You should have moved faster!"

"My apologies. As I was saying, we have located the camp, but we did not see the ogre," Rasaad reported. "It appears that various tribes and races have united.

"They hold a prisoner there, and we overheard the bandits discussing that Tazok plans to leave tomorrow night for a mine. They didn't say where, but if you wish to confront the ogre, then we must return to the camp this very night if we wish to use the cover of darkness. There are also some documents we can retrieve from main tent, but the chest is locked and trapped and beyond my skills."

"They're surely not beyond mine and Imoen's," Arquen said gingerly, exchanging nods with Imoen.

"Arquen?" Rasaad looked at her intently. "I do not know how dangerous this mission is, and if you will find the answers you're looking for."

Arquen bit her lip. The answer to why assassins were pursuing her and why Gorion was murdered and why all this began ... had to lie with Tazok ... right?

"If we don't find the answers, then death would be a great relief, won't it? And death will most certainly come," Xan pointed out.

Arquen sighed. "Ready your weapons. We are going to the camp."

Now that the route was laid down, Rasaad stalked ahead of the group, leading them through a dense series of trees that soon narrowed to a copse until they found themselves squeezing through trees. Though much larger in size than all of them, the monk moved swifter and more silently, light-stepping his way across the forest ground without so much as crunching the fallen leaves.

Soon they could see faint light in the distance, and Arquen felt her heart starting to pound.

"The main tent lies to the east," Rasaad turned around and whispered.

Arquen glanced around their group. Five seemed too many now, and, more importantly, she didn't want to put Imoen at risk.

"Immy, I think you should remain in the forest with Viconia."

"But – " her sister protested.

"Keep watch over us from the forest. Come to our aid only if things get desperate."

Arquen could only imagine that Imoen was feeling even more terrified than she was. She was just as reluctant to part with her sister, until Xan raised his hands and casted a spell over Imoen and Viconia. The girls disappeared before them. "There. You should be safe under the shelter of invisibility." He then casted the spell on Arquen, before vanishing himself.

Leaving Imoen and Viconia behind, Arquen followed the stealthy Rasaad closely, never letting him go farther than a few feet ahead. She knew Xan was behind or beside her somewhere, but simply knowing that was not as comforting as actually being able to see someone.

They arrived at the fringe of the camp, where Rasaad pointed out a shed with a dismantled wagon parked beside it. Scattered around were crates, barrels, sacks and all kinds of plunder. There was also a campfire surrounded by wooden stools by the shed, but presently no bandits were sitting around the fire. Further up was a guard post, with a man standing watch.

And in front of it was a huge tent, as wide and high as a circus tent but nowhere as inviting, set on a raised platform. Tazok's tent.

"Do you see Kivan at all?" she whispered.

Rasaad shook his head. There was a worried look on his face.

"Someone lingers over the tent," Xan mumbled. Arquen looked up at the imposing construction, and for a moment, she really thought the tall figure could be Kivan standing atop the dome structure of the tent.

"Corellon help me. It's not Kivan. It's a corpse. Three of them," Xan squeaked.

She swallowed hard. If that didn't convey the message that Tazok and his men were brutal, she didn't know what would. It would be a very tragic end indeed if they fell into Tazok's hands, and for once Xan's vivid morbid imagination of them being perfect replacements for the three rotting decorations was a real threat.

Fearlessly, Rasaad advanced to the shed, crouching by the barrels. From the shed, the monk dashed over to the raised platform and vaulted onto it soundlessly. He slipped behind a few tanning racks to stay out of sight.

Even though she was invisible, Arquen found herself still sneaking as she followed his steps. The raised platform was almost taller than she was, but having learnt some parkour tricks (the most impressive-looking ones, to show off) from the monk, she managed to scramble onto the platform. She slid next to Rasaad, nudging him to let him know where she was. They laid low and listened for the sounds to indicate that Xan was on his way up.

They heard the shuffling of fingers on the edge of the platform and boot against the beams.

Then 'thump!' on the ground.

The same sequence of sounds repeated as Xan tried again to climb up to the platform.

Another 'thump!' on the ground.

"I can't climb up," came a soft whine from below.

"You're invisible. You could just walk up the front steps, you know," Rasaad whispered loudly.

The silent indignation was deafening –

– Followed a very determined movement to scramble up the raised platform. Arquen could see various fingernail marks being scratched on the planks about five inches long as the elf clawed at the platform.

Rasaad sighed. He crawled over to the edge, extending his hand to where he assumed Xan to be. Arquen could see some pressure being impressed on Rasaad's arm as Xan grabbed it.

And tugged just a bit too forcefully.

"No, Xan!" Rasaad hissed as the sudden jerk and what appeared to be the underestimated weight of the invisible (and supposedly skinny) elf pulled the monk right over the edge head first. Arquen felt her heart stop as Rasaad hit the ground.

But he managed to land in a spectacular – and more importantly, soundless – acrobatic roll.

However the sounds of 'thump', a tanning rack slamming against the earth, a bandit's pet cat screeching, shuffling feet and "Ow! Ow! Ow!" indicated that Xan was going to suffer from some bruises in the morning.

The noise also did not go unnoticed this time. Two bandits on their watch rushed over with their torches.

From the platform, Arquen's heart pounded to her ears in fear as she watched Rasaad scurrying about below her. Xan was still invisible so the enchanter was safe, but the very visible monk had to do something – _fast!_

Like a chameleon, Rasaad slipped back into the shadows by darting among piles of barrels, crates, animal hides and sacks. Even though Arquen was just above him, his movements were so swift that she had to keep trailing him with her eyes or risk losing sight of him. In moments he had squeezed himself between some tanning racks, using his hands to feel his way around as he kept a watchful eye on the bandits searching for him. As the men approached, he slowly snaked his way through barrels to stay out of their light, feeling around the haystacks, as if becoming one with the objects.

He would have remained perfectly hidden in the shadows. Until –

"RASAAD YOUR HAND IS ON MY CROTCH!"

"What kind of sordid night romping goes on back here!" The bandits raised their torches over the source of the impossibly high octave scream, their bright flames causing even Arquen to flinch.

The blinding light revealed the monk amongst the haystacks, one of his hands grasping at straws (literally) and the other pressed downwards with his full weight against a raised unseen mount he was attempting to climb over, which appeared to be the invisible crotch.


	5. 5: Xan

_I am dying ..._

Xan laid in a fetal position, trying to regain control over his body. He had never experienced such excruciating pain that rendered him paralyzed.

The monk had crushed him with his full large-size human weight. Of all the possible hiding places – inside a barrel, under animal hides, even running away at his top speed of twenty-five miles per hour – Rasaad _had_ to climb on top of HIS CROTCH.

The pain in his crotch … was still throbbing. Xan pushed himself up on his knees, steadying himself against a haystack, taking shallow breaths through clenched teeth.

It was futile. He couldn't get to his feet. All he could do was sit with his back against the haystack, and watch with insulting delight the monk trying to worm his way out of his impending doom.

"We'll not fight you. In fact, we want to join your group!" Rasaad was squeaking to the group of bandits that had surrounded him in a semi-circle, with arrows, bolts, spears and a raised scythe (wielded by a skeletal-looking figure in a black robe) trained on him.

"It's a bloodthirsty job you have, and we like the killin'! Let us join and the roads will run red 'neath our feet!" he rattled on, his Calishite accent going off-kilter.

Subterfuge, his foot! Xan wasn't kidding when he said the monk couldn't even bluff his way out of an _Old Maid_ card game. It was true! They played twenty rounds of _Old Maid_ once and Rasaad lost every single time because everyone figured out his changed expression (if he were a dog, he would've started wagging his tail in a circular motion) whenever he had the Jester card in his hand. Later on someone slipped in a second Jester into the deck and somehow he still managed to lose.

_Ugh!_ Xan managed to pull himself up to a kneeling position this time, resting his forehead against his arms and propping himself up on the haystack.

_The pain ... It burns ..._ The monk _deserved_ to be executed for this!

Then, unexpectedly, the bandits roared with laughter.

"You scare me, but I like your fire!" the bandit in front said as he lowered his weapon. "Now who was that screaming bitch with you? We didn't see the ring snatcher!"

"That's, er, just an Evereskan ... moonblade-wielding ... enchanter ..."

WHAT THE – ?

Defying the pain, Xan shifted to a stack of crates and poked his head over them. He resisted the urge to reveal his position by firing an acid arrow at Rasaad for attempting to sully his homeland, heritage _and_ occupation like that.

"There's a famous moonblade wielder from Evereska I know of, and that's the Greycloak, Xan," one of the bandits said.

Xan felt his eyebrows hitting his circlet as he recognized that shady elf bandit. It was his former kindergarten classmate! A bully back then who sat at the back of the class and used to steal his crayons. He knew even two hundred years ago that the elf was bad news. But that rogue was well-connected – he had twenty siblings of various political and social standings, including the Greycloaks. If word ever got back to Evereska about him being "involved" with some exhibitionist monk, that was it. The reputation he had worked so hard to garner over the CENTURIES would be tarnished! DESTROYED!

Xan pulled himself up to his feet with iron-will determination and dispelled his invisibility. He left his hiding place and staggered into the crowd of murderers and hardened criminals. If he was going to die tonight, he wanted to die with an unsullied name!

The bandits turned and greeted him with loud whistles and hoots. "Ooo imagine you fisting that one!" someone cheered to a series of loud catcalls.

Xan resisted the urge to gut Rasaad with his moonblade as he slid up next to the monk. Even though Rasaad was much taller than him, he propped his elbow on the boy's shoulder, to show that whatever the circumstance, _he_ was the alpha male here, the elder, the one in charge, the one on top. The monk would just have to shut up, submit, slay the dragon and suck it all up, or else!

(It then occurred to him that the above didn't come out sounding the way he wanted it to sound, but he had already telepathically implanted it into all the minds of the bandits before them.)

"It _is_ you, Xan!" his ex-kindergarten classmate exclaimed.

Xan narrowed his eyes at the elf and cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before in my life."

"You used to sit in the corner by yourself and you had no friends, remember? We called you 'Princess Xanax'! I knew you were a back door bandit even back then!"

His jaw hurt to do so but Xan kept his smile wide as he locked eyes with the bandit and didn't release his gaze, penetrating the wall of thought and memory, breaking it down, filling the space with blank images and the words "I am a chicken" repeatedly.

The bandit blinked stupidly. Then he started clucking, flapped his arms and bounced away from the group. Xan knew tonight's incident would be a blank to him tomorrow. Perhaps even his kindergarten memories too would be wiped out, like his first day at school or even how to spell his own name. Oh well, too bad for him.

A wave of hushed, nervous whispers sailed through the crowd as the bandits parted and a menacing hulk stomped his way through.

One look told Xan that the hideous brute was Tazok, with a face even a mother could not love. Xan was sure this was the case because up close, he realized Tazok was actually a _half_-ogre, likely a product of rape with serious abandonment issues evident and written in that "I hate mothers!" badge on his plate mail armor.

Still the half-ogre was huge, towering in at almost eight feet tall, and he cast a shadow over Xan completely as he stood before them. His two-handed sword glinted brutally.

They were most definitely going to die. Xan gulped, feeling his legs become jelly and his crotch injury all but forgotten.

"I say now I don't like you!" the half-ogre pointed his weapon at them and yelled, his breath with the stink of unflossed carrion. "Give me reason to not have you broth-boiled and use your skin to swaddle my small-kin! Who are you that I should let you join?!"

Rasaad stood with his arms crossed but shrilled, "We're strong, well armed – " (so said the unarmed unarmored man) " – and we know opportunity when we see it! What better job be there for us? Dungeon crawling? That's fools' work!"

To Xan's surprise (again), Tazok bought the monk's words as he furrowed his brow. "Hmmm. You have some sense, but I have many a strong back here already. What for I need you?'" he asked, sticking the tip of his sword into the ground, skewering a beetle.

Xan quickly said ahead of Rasaad, "Would you rather have too few and need more, or have too many and not need them at all?"

Tazok blinked, trying to digest that line.

"Eh? You sure are big on words," the half-ogre remarked, scratching his head. Dandruff fell. Then, to Xan's utter relief, he pulled his weapon away.

"You better be big on the battlefield too, 'cuz if you're not, you die." Tazok started to leave, dismissing them as if he was already bored with their presence. He turned around just to cast his foul breath over them once more. "You have run of the camp. If I hear ONE bad thing from Ardenor and Taugosz, I personally feed your livers to the crows!"

Xan wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Beside him Rasaad too let out a sigh of relief.

So now they were free to roam the camp! He believed Arquen had been standing watch all this while from the raised platform around Tazok's tent, or the shrewd girl may have even snuck into the tent already during all the commotion. Either way, they live another hour!

But of course, just a moment after Xan thought they weren't doomed, just before Tazok reached the steps to the raised platform, Kivan emerged from the tent with a now-visible Arquen.

Xan and Rasaad gasped as they regarded the two. A line of blood was sprayed across Arquen's forehead and her wild-eyed expression was one of panic. Xan had noticed that the half-elf tended to go emotionally off tangent during battles, like that time when she was held down by a gnoll. Hallmarks of inexperience with violent battles and life on the road in general.

Her blood-covered face therefore was a bad, bad sign that they would suffer her ways of dealing with post-traumatic stress, should they survive the night.

As for Kivan, the wild elf was drenched in blood. His face looked as if he sweated blood out of his pores; his leather armor and frayed cloak dripping crimson. Unlike Arquen though, he seemed on fire by whatever that had occurred inside the tent.

And he was carrying three freshly decapitated heads by their hair. More blood dripped onto the carpeted entrance of the tent.

Kivan didn't look just like a wild man – he looked like a MAD man on the warpath to Tazok. His intense glare narrowed in on the half-ogre as he snarled, bearing his teeth like fangs (fortunately still white. Xan would have to declare a Section VIII dismissal if Kivan had descended to cannibalism). He flung the three heads down the platform steps, splattering blood and loose flesh in various directions. A gnoll's head bounced down the wooden steps and rolled to a stop at Tazok's feet.

"You killed all but one of my elite men!" Tazok was outraged.

"I slayed your men as they laid down to sleep. It is unfortunate that I missed one," Kivan sneered as he drew his long swords.

"Who are you, elf?" the half-ogre demanded, readying his own two-handed sword.

Bandits started surrounding them again slowly. A fight was inevitable now. Beside him, Rasaad raised his fists. Xan felt a wave of heat next to him as flames started to swirl around the monk. He swallowed hard, mumbling his armor spell to surround him as he drew his moonblade.

"I am Kivan of Shilmista! Your gravest mistake was when you failed to slay me on the day you tortured my wife to death!" Kivan started down the steps. "Tonight I will avenge Deheriana!"

Kivan launched himself at Tazok just as a beam of fiery light from Rasaad's palm blasted itself into a group of bandits. The night sky lit up for a second.

Then men and arrows swarmed in on them from every direction, and Xan thought of the goriest ways they would meet their end tonight.

* * *

"Those who are not fully men have betrayed the alliance, monsters that they are," Xan hissed at the group of five rough-looking men, holding his right hand up.

The humans blinked at him, then he saw their eyes clouding over slightly as he bent their thoughts to his will.

"The intruders are not the true enemy here, but the foul hobgoblins and gnolls!" one of the men yelled as he charged towards the hobgoblins' tent in the west. His companions followed suit, and their archer planted an arrow into a hobgoblin's neck, which caused the demihumans to cry out in confusion.

_That will distract them for awhile,_ Xan thought as he glanced over at Tazok's large tent by the east again.

The half-ogre was still in fierce battle with Kivan on the grounds. Throwing his men in front of Kivan's path did not dissuade or tire the wild elf, who only cut them down as he kept his focus on acquiring his prized kill. Nearby Rasaad was engaged in crowd control as he knocked bandits and their weapons down, occasionally setting people on fire with his sun soulray.

Xan kept the west portion of the bandit camp in total disarray as he set the marauders against each other and also dispersed groups in clouds of panic and confusion with his spells. However the numbers were great and they could not risk having the bandits reassemble properly or their band would be overwhelmed.

"Watch out!" a girlish voice screamed.

Before he could locate Imoen, a ball of fire exploded right next to Tazok's tent, setting at least half a dozen bandits ablaze. Even Rasaad hit the ground, his own circle of fire blazing brighter momentarily from being licked by the fireball.

_Little pink-haired Imoen just casted a fireball?_

In that brief moment, a surge of pride hit Xan in the chest. It must be akin to what his parents felt when he took his first step as a toddler. He had always known Imoen was gifted, was much cleverer and committed in grasping the language of magic than her sister, but he wasn't sure if she could manage such an incredible evocation yet, and as an enchanter he had been unable to teach her.

Then at the top of the platform, a jet of flames appeared from Arquen's hands, razing through a line of bandits until they were effectively roasted.

Xan could almost feel tears in his eyes from all the dancing flames on burning men, plunder and wagons. He felt newfound appreciation for the young, uncontrollable pyromaniacs in his midst. They may just win this fight!

He ducked as a hobgoblin took a swipe at him with its battleaxe, then sliced the creature's belly open with his moonblade. Moving quickly, he set his sight on another group of bandits, and sent a wave of eerie shadows over them. They dropped their swords screaming, and fled the campground altogether.

Another group of bandits shrieked nearby. It wasn't caused by one of his spells, so Xan turned around. From the thicket to the southeast, Viconia strolled into the grounds almost in a casual manner, with her mace tucked above a shoulder. With her cloak removed, her fine drow form (and it was very fine indeed, if one didn't think about all the associated evilness) caused the men to scream "drows are going to kill us!", soil themselves and flee into the wilderness. Xan wondered if he should stop memorizing fear spells from now on and simply get Viconia to walk into any crowd they needed to disperse. Did it offend the vain drow to have such an effect on people? Regardless, Viconia relished the opportunity to doom the remaining bandits with her spells, then bash them with her mace to put in the finishing touches.

His worry shifted back to Kivan. As Xan neared the melee, he could see the ranger's strikes at Tazok being too eager, too unmeasured.

And then Kivan let out a terrifying scream as missiles struck him repeatedly. He dropped his swords and dropped to the ground. Tazok gave his unresponding body a kick and dashed quickly to a mage, who had begun casting a hurricane-like swirl around Tazok and himself.

Xan ran towards it, as did the rest of them, but they knew it was futile as the swirl quickly dissipated before their eyes, taking the half-ogre and his mage with him to gods know where.

Before them, the battle ground was a gruesome scene of bodies burnt, bloodied or broken. To the west were still sounds of conflict between humans and demihumans, but the east had now fallen into an eerie calm.

Viconia hurried over to Kivan and dropped to her knees, throwing herself into her clerical responsibilities before any personal antagonism against the wild elf. She touched Kivan's throat, which was as bloodied as his face.

"He lives still!" she declared, and immediately set to loosening the wild elf's armor. Xan was surprised that the half-ogre didn't just sliced Kivan in half when he had the chance to make sure he'd finished the job.

Xan turned to the three youngsters. "Search the tent quickly to see what you can find, and let us be done with this place!" Xan ordered. Imoen and Rasaad nodded, but Arquen shook her head fervently, that wild-eyed expression returning. Xan sighed, but understood that the half-elf didn't want to face whatever was inside the tent again, which he suspected probably included three beheaded mangled bodies. Imoen and Rasaad disappeared into the tent while Arquen stayed outside. Xan would follow them later if he must; but first he needed to tend to his kinsman.

As Viconia chanted a long healing spell over Kivan, Xan knelt down beside her to wipe Kivan's face. It was hard to see the ranger's injuries through all the blood and grime. He soiled several cloths from Viconia's healing kit before Kivan's facial tattoos were fully visible again.

Slowly, Kivan started to wheeze, then coughed, his life spark returning. The elf opened his eyes, and the first thing he must've seen was Viconia hovering over him.

He swung a hand at the drow's face and knocked her right over sideways.

"Kivan! Viconia is healing you!"Xan cried, grabbing him by the wrist.

"I'd rather die than be touched by the foul creature!" Kivan still managed to snap in his weakened state. He then attempted a kick at the drow. Xan held him down by his shoulders and, short of casting a sleep spell, managed to get the wild elf to stay down.

He looked over his shoulders to see Viconia bent over on her knees, a hand holding her face, shoulders heaving. Her face was obscured by her long, silvery white hair. When she removed her hand, Xan saw a patch of blood on it.

She clenched her fist, trembling slightly, then stood up with a glare in their direction.

_Of all the time to turn the drow against us._ Xan braced himself for Viconia to attempt a strike at Kivan.

But instead, she walked away from them quietly, going around the tent, her hand still over her face.

He would have to appease her later, Xan thought with a sigh.

"Arquen! You need to perform your healing over Kivan!" Xan turned and barked at the half-elf, who stood around looking dazed. She shook her head, as if afraid to be anywhere near the wild elf. Xan softened his tone to coax her again. "I'll make do first with a healing potion, but if he still has any deep wounds, I need your spells to patch them."

Together the task seemed less overwhelming for the half-elf, and she kneeled beside him. Kivan let out a guttural cry as a light glow emanated from the half-elf's palm over his body.

"Are you alright?" Xan asked quietly. Unlike Viconia or other healers, Arquen's innate ability to heal was unknown magic. On another occasion, Xan would've scrutinized her methods closely to ascertain the source of her magic, to investigate her claims that "I just woke up one morning and found out I could heal", but not tonight.

The half-elf nodded, though somewhat uncertainly. "In the tent earlier, Kivan was … very angry," she said softly. "This is the first time I've ever seen someone so … consumed by anger."

Xan swallowed, maintaining a calm look as best he could. _Violent outbursts and decapitations committed by goodly companions do happen. Get over it,_ was something he obviously couldn't tell her right then. With every battle they fought, the violence escalated, the threat of death greater, the meaning of life ... well, more meaningless. Xan shook his head. The non-elves should be grateful for their short lifespan.

He decided to distract her. "Did you find any documents in the tent? What about the prisoner Rasaad mentioned?"

"Yes. Kivan smashed the chest open and ... I didn't know bodies could be flattened to an inch thin. Yes to the prisoner also. But this is hardly the time for detective work, is it?" The half-elf now seemed focused on the task in front of her as she tried to pull Kivan to a sitting position.

"Arquen," Xan said softly, getting her to look at him. "You did very well tonight with your cunning and your magic. You casted Aganazzar's Scorcher, didn't you? I'm very impressed."

Arquen offered him a small grin, even smiling over Kivan's growling before them.

Imoen and Rasaad reemerged from the tent with a shady-looking man dressed from head to boot in black, who could have passed for one of the bandits. "I picked my enemies and I messed with one group and one group only – the Iron Throne," he was telling them.

"The Iron Throne. Where can I find them?" Imoen asked with a frown.

"Tazok's been making regular visits to the Cloakwood, so that's where I'd start if I were you," Tazok's prisoner told the group as he pulled on his black hood. "Now go step on some toes, all right? And you can tell them Ender Sai sent you." He picked up a dagger and long sword from one of the dead bandits, then relieved some bodies of their gear, before he disappeared into the night. Imoen and Rasaad watched the man go before coming over to hover over Kivan as well.

"What else did you uncover inside the tent?" Xan asked the two.

"Naught else. It was kinda messy. Lots of organs ... on the wall, minced, and stuff," Imoen said, and Xan noticed how green she looked. Even Rasaad looked a little troubled, and he was someone who killed with his bare hands.

Xan sighed, and told them to take care of Kivan. It was the best time for him to slip away and tend to the drow.

He found her behind Tazok's tent, looting a body in the dark impatiently. For some reason, he had to keep telling himself that the girls looted bodies in the same manner as well, and just because Viconia was drow it shouldn't seem twice as unnerving.

"Viconia?" he called to her.

She looked up at him with a glare, violet orbs shining in the night.

"What do you want, elf?"

Xan sighed. This wasn't going to be easy, or pleasant.

"I apologize for Kivan's behavior. It was uncalled for, but I hope you will forgive the man for his distressed state. Are you … hurt?"

"I just used my last healing spell on that fool and how does he show his gratitude? By striking my face."

Xan studied her face, features in the shade of darkness, but always alluring, as if gazing into the night sky with the beauty and mystery of the moon and stars. There was a cut on her upper lip, making her pout swollen. Blood smeared across a cheek and stained her pale hair.

Sometimes he envied Kivan's kill-on-sight perspective, or Rasaad's love-your-enemies philosophy, instead of approaching things from such … an oblique angle. Still, in all fairness the drow was carrying out her clerical duty and Kivan had wantonly lashed out at her.

He held out a healing potion to her. Viconia snatched it from his hand and drank the entire potion quickly, fingering her lip to reassure herself that her face was healing.

Xan searched his pockets in hope of a small bandage or kerchief somewhere that he could give to her, but found none. So he pulled the sleeve of his robe until the fabric slipped over his fingers. Stepping up to the drow, he raised his clothed hand. "There's still blood on your face," he told her, though she continued glaring at him. He wiped her cheek and the side of her lips with his sleeve. Surprisingly, she stood still and let him touch her face.

"Perhaps I ought to consider drinking the blood of elves, to reinforce the notion of my evil ways," she said crossly from behind his sleeve.

"Perhaps you should consider that not all elves are the same."

"Are you so different from Kivan?"

Xan sighed but said nothing, focusing on his cleaning task under her scowl. What could he say? Labels he could tag himself with were: Greycloak, Evereskan, Wielder of a Moonblade, and Enchanter. To which she would probably respond with: "Mine is brown", "All surface scum", "So?", and "You fail to enchant me". There were no other redeeming qualities he could think of to highlight to her.

When he had wiped away all the blood from her face, he gazed into Viconia's face for a moment. He didn't need to read her expression or thoughts deeply to see anger (a lot of it). Bitterness. And hurt. Evil though she may be, she was still capable of feeling hurt.

"Let us not linger here any further," he said.

She gave him a final scowl but followed him back to their companions from a distance.

Kivan, though looking weak, was already marching determinedly ahead. "We head for Cloakwood," he growled.

_"Kivan, we must first recuperate. Let us return to town with news to the Flaming Fist," _Xan said sharply to him in Elvish, wishing the wild elf to act more reasonably.

_"I do not wish to waste any time with city-dwelling officials whose incompetence will not lead us to justice."_

_"We would fare better together, as you once said to us."_

_"Perhaps in the presence of fairer companions." _He eyed Viconia harshly. In response, the drow looked like she wanted to spit in his face.

_"If you wish my comradeship, I shall be in Cloakwood. Perhaps I will find the Iron Throne first, judging by the sluggishness of this band." _

Kivan gave a small bow to the group, and just as suddenly as he had arrived in their midst, he disappeared again into the wilderness.

* * *

_"Shipments of ore are being made to the Iron Throne's base in Cloakwood, a secret mine that we aim to locate,"_ Xan informed the young Greycloak agent, an overly enthusiastic elf who nodded fervently as they stood in a secluded spot of Beregost, just south of the fountain.

He handed him his latest report. _"Gorion's ward continues to be sought, for reasons unknown, though now we know her seeker's name to be Sarevok."_

The young Evereskan tucked the parchment into a case, and adjusted his newly fitted armor. _"By the way, my lord, it was brought to my attention that you have acquired the acquaintanceship of a Sun Soul Monk in your journeys."_

_"Amn is plagued by raiders and on the brink of war and the only question on your mind is regarding my acquaintances?!"_ Xan said in an exasperated tone. Honestly! New recruits nowadays!

_"It was but rumors I heard, my lord. You need not be so defensive!"_ The elf gave him a suspicious smile anyway. _"Oh, look! There he is!"_ The elf's smile became a pointy-ear-to-pointy-ear- grin as Rasaad caught sight of them standing by the trees and strolled over.

_"Be on your way! NOW!"_ Xan barked, shooing him away with a flick of his hand. Rasaad stopped a few feet away to watch the young elf wink at him, then bounce down the fringes of Beregost. The monk's expression, as usual, was one of deep puzzlement.

"Why are you outside, Rasaad?" Xan asked with a sigh. He rubbed his temples to soothe the headache he seemed to have developed suddenly. Yet again he considered handing in his resignation to the Greycloaks.

"Arquen told me to come get you," the monk replied.

"Yes, yes, let us return to the tavern. I had to come outside to ... attend to some matters."

As they walked up the road to the Jovial Juggler, Xan could guess the question burning in Rasaad's head even before the monk asked, "Why do all elves act so strange – "

"Why don't you contemplate this quietly?" Xan snapped.

"I shall," the monk said no more and remained obediently mute as he walked by his side.

Xan sighed again, this time feeling a little guilty for snapping at the innocent boy. He didn't actually hate the monk or anything like that (and anyway the opposite of love was not hate, but indifference). It was just impossible to talk to Rasaad without the right mood, background color and blood pressure level if he didn't want to trigger any suicidal thought.

He recalled one of their earliest conversations:

_"Rasaad, what is your mother like?" _

_"I never knew her. She died giving birth to me." _

_"I'm SO sorry to hear that. What about your father? How does he fare?" _

_"My father was consigned to the Arena Efreetum to fight to his death when I was six. My brother and I watched." _

_"That is horrible! Were you at least taken to an orphanage thereafter to be fed and sheltered?"_

_"No. My brother and I were left to eke out a living for ourselves on the streets. There were days when I didn't eat a morsel."_

_"At the very least you have your brother. Take comfort that you are not all alone in this world, Rasaad, no matter how cruel it seems." _

_"Gamaz died not so long ago in his own pool of blood."_

Xan recalled how he wanted to stick his butter knife up his nose then and headbutt the table just to end his despair with the world and how cruel life could be to those who least deserved it. As if all that tragedy was not cruel enough, the monk would meet Arquen, sealing his fate.

When they got back to the Jovial Juggler, the aforementioned jinx welcomed them back at their table by holding up two goblets.

"This wine is for you, Xan!" Xan accepted the goblet before its contents spilt all over his tunic.

"And this is some juice dyed with red food coloring!" Arquen pushed the goblet into the monk's hand as Xan retched. _  
_

"Let's make a toast! Even if Viconia isn't here!"

Viconia had refused to dine at the tavern with them tonight since they were meeting Officer Vai from the Flaming Fist to inform her about the location of the bandit camp should she wish to send a group of bandit scalp collectors on a mission. Moreover the drow had also been in a fouler-than-usual mood since the incident with Kivan.

The half-elf stood up clumsily and spilt some of her drink on Imoen's dress. The girls' emotions, Arquen's in particular, had been riding high since the bandit camp. To an extent, he felt sorry for them for uncovering more mysteries, instead of answers, as to why Arquen was being personally pursued by a man named Sarevok, whoever he was, who appeared to have a great involvement in the iron crisis. Not to mention her witnessing of the extent of Kivan's violence ("I didn't know our innards could be used as a lasso," she mentioned during their march back to Beregost) followed by his abandoning their group.

"Now then. Let's celebrate another mystery to the plot," Arquen launched into one of her melodramatic acts as she sloshed her drink around in her goblet. "All I wanted for my life was to be the resident rogue at Candlekeep and breed seven babies. But here I am, a wanted man – sorry, _wo_man – on an epic treasure hunt!"

"From Candlekeep to Cloakwood!" Imoen cheered as she tipped her head backwards to swallow her drink. Whatever Arquen did, Imoen would always follow suit as her partner-in-crime. Setting traps, eating cake, casting lightning bolts, twirling daggers, everything. Best friends forever. Arquen and Imoen.

"DOWN YOUR GOBLETS NOW!" Arquen ordered all of them, grabbing a dinner knife as a threat.

_Patience with the children. All this is just symptoms of post-traumatic stress,_ Xan told himself as he raised his goblet without a smile. Ugh. Even the wine seemed to have gone bitter with his mood.

He sighed to himself as he watched the tavern activities about him. Jaded people drinking their lives away. Bards singing woeful tunes on failing to make it big in the city. Flighty girls like Arquen and Imoen who suddenly stumbled into life on the road and were unable to cope.

Then again, he thought with a sigh as Arquen refilled his goblet, though the girls were young, they were no more than two years younger than Rasaad. In some ways, he wished they could _behave_ (note: not converse) more like the monk. Civilized in comparison, faultlessly hygienic, an impeccable cook, knew when to say "please" and "thank you", creepily quiet at times, like now.

Xan glanced at the monk to see him slumped against the table, head buried in one arm, the other arm stretched out holding onto a toppled goblet.

The girls squealed in laughter.

Oh no! They couldn't ... wouldn't …

"YOU GOT RASAAD DRUNK?"

Their maniacal nods confirmed it, also confirming their own escalating drunkenness.

"Why would you do something like this?" Xan screamed next.

Arquen looked at him with crazed reddened turquoise eyes. "Because I am _doomed_, as you would say!" she slurred. She threw her arm around Imoen and rustled the girl's pink hair. "Candlekeep has shut its doors on us! We march onwards, to futility!"

_We are going to get ourselves killed!_ Xan elbowed the monk's side to try to rouse him. It was dangerous to tempt fate with the polite, quiet ones! You never know what they might do when they actually erupt! He might rampage through the tavern raping furniture, or, worse, try to dance and sing. None of them would have the strength to subdue him and he was immune to most of their spells.

"Hmm?" Rasaad sat up and turned to Xan with the perennial empty thought bubble over his head. Xan looked into the monk's glazed brown eyes.

And all at once this warm and fuzzy feeling overwhelmed him inside as he gazed upon the hapless boy with fierce parental instincts.

"I want to adopt you, Rasaad!" Xan couldn't stop himself from declaring.

The monk's eyes shone with tears. "I've always wanted a mother!" he sniffed.

The two of them clutched at each other's arms with affection that had gone unsaid and unexpressed for far too long.

_What am I doing?_

Xan let go of the monk, letting him slump back over the table, and stared at the girls again. Their movements seemed to have slowed considerably as they giggled and combed their hairs with forks. The plucking of the bard's mandolin nearby seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat. He made the connection between his wine and the spiraling of emotions he would otherwise never feel.

"What did you put inside my wine?" he demanded.

"Some alchemy components that I combined in a cocktail shaker!" Arquen beamed proudly.

Xan was about to shout at the half-elf when his outrage suddenly vanished like a popped bubble. In its place was the feeling of awe in coming face to face with perfection. Arquen had always had the high score on his Beautiful Dumb Blonde checklist, with double entries for "Dumb". Now he could also include "'I'm so drunk' mating call". Should he heed that call?

He crossed his legs and shook his head roughly to perish the thought. He was _not_ going to seduce their leader. He tried to focus on Imoen instead, the rabid pink-haired girl who was now singing a nursery rhyme.

_Mmm … jailbait …_

Xan jumped from his seat, knocking over his goblet and spilling the wine on Rasaad's sleeping face.

No, no, no, no! An enchanter must _never_ lose control of his own thoughts and will and emotions. He had to get away! He pushed himself away from the table, leaving the girls' laughter trailing behind him.

He fled as quickly as he could upstairs, holding on to the banisters to steady himself. The stairs were swimming as if he was onboard a turbulent ship. When he reached the door, he pulled out his key and started trying to fit it into the keyhole, which seemed to be a lot more difficult than he remembered. The key kept sliding to the doorframe and scratching the doorknob.

Then the door opened on its own.

In the room stood the very familiar and very angry figure of Viconia, mace in hand and violet eyes unleashing the fury of all nine hells.

"Why are you trying to break into my room, you insolent elf!" she snarled.

A snarl so befitting her. For Viconia, unlike the half-elf and human, was all WOMAN. Angry, bitter, sensual, experienced, I've-never-been-to-me woman, drow or no.

Xan stood at the doorway in stunned tribute.

"I love the way you snarl," he blurted.

The narrowed silvery-white eyebrows shifted upwards. The glare turned inquisitive, another alluring feature of hers that he had come to know as she revealed her curiosity about the surface world. Like how flowers confused her, or if the edibility of animals could be determined by their fluffiness. Which meant he got to explain and teach her a lot of things, and unlike the girls Viconia would always do her homework.

She tossed her mace aside – oh so fiercely, as if it were a piece of lingerie – and folded her arms across her chest, giving her already generous cleavage a further boost. Sustaining eye contact was proving extremely difficult.

"If I told you that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" he couldn't help saying next, and in his mind he truly believed he was oh so witty.

"It appears our morose elf is intoxicated," Viconia said with a glint in her eyes. Violet orbs that were like a gateway into a world of which he wanted to be a part of. Or stumble into, for his head felt as heavy as lead. He clamped his hands on the doorframe. Did he look like a madman, leaning at the doorway like that? He searched Viconia's face for signs of disproof or an impending attack, but she just stood there, breaking down the walls to _his_ world with her gaze.

"So tell me what is on your mind. An enchanter must have the most curious of secrets," she purred in her sultry voice.

What could he tell her? That he had been waiting to see her kill a random person without cause, sometimes using Rasaad as bait? That he had left gems lying around for her to steal but Arquen and Imoen had always gotten to them first? That his pursuit to prove her treacherous to their band and pronounce just execution had been so far been futile?

Not only that, he just realized his feelings about her had actually changed – _mutated_ – since he first rescued her from the Flaming Fist mercenary. All that suspicion and horror and anti-drow crusade that usually felt unpleasant and tasted sour in his mouth seemed to have gone. Transformed into something he couldn't properly describe other than how it blew him away completely.

"Viconia … you … blow … me …" Xan wanted her to know but started to slur, his head now functioning at half its rate.

Instead of punching him between his eyes, Viconia came even closer.

"Is that truly what you desire?" The alluring drow murmured, their faces just inches apart now.

Xan parted his lips. They felt wet because his tongue had gone numb and he was trying to keep it inside his mouth. Was he drooling? He had better not be drooling!

Was she inviting him to kiss her? A kiss on her pouty lips? Oh gods! Another strike off his bucket list! Hedonism at its finest! His first kiss!

Then he was knocked into ebony unconsciousness.

* * *

Xan awoke sometime the following day when the sunlight started baking his face through the window.

He blinked at the blinding light. Slowly the room became less foggy and he recalled the sensation of lying in a double bed with a hard pillow under his head.

Such terrible quality and housekeeping standards for supposed deluxe noble room standards, Xan thought with a groan as he tried to adjust the pillow into a more comfortable position that wouldn't strain his neck like so.

Only to discover that the hard pillow wasn't a pillow at all but someone's thigh.

He pulled his head up with a jolt and gripped his fists.

In his left hand was something about eight inches long, smoothed to the touch, stiff and hard with a rounded tip.

Xan almost let out a scream, when he realized it was the grip of his moonblade.

His heart resumed beating as he slid his precious sword over the thigh and next to him, a little surprised that the sheets weren't bloodied from him fighting off an enemy before promptly passing out, or rolling over the sharp blade.

Now for the presence of the thigh ... The body it belonged to had somehow accomplished the feat of sleeping stretched out diagonally across the double bed, feet sticking over the edge but still wrapped in the blanket, which wound around the legs like a winding sheet, finally tucked in just below an exposed navel. Above the belly button, the body managed to retain some sense of modesty as a pillow laid across it, covering even the face. One arm dangled over the other side of the bed lifelessly, and the other arm flopped over the smothering pillow.

As his vision cleared, Xan recognized the muscular arm by its swirl tattoos, beaded wristband and a pink and baby blue friendship bracelet Imoen tied on that could only be taken off with a Remove Curse spell.

He. Was. In. Bed. With. Rasaad.

A chill ran down his spine and wafted up to spread across his chest, arms and shoulders.

Wait a moment ... That didn't make sense. Xan wrapped his arms around his body.

And realized with horror that the chillness was not due to fear but him not wearing his tunic. He only had his trousers on.

Oh gods ... He looked again at the exposed navel. It had an obscene come-hither appearance with the blanket strategically positioned below it a bit too dangerously low. If the monk was also naked waist down ... something awful had happened last night for sure.

And Xan _had_ to know for sure. If the monk was indeed naked, he would have to hack his body into pieces with his moonblade, then set fire to the room to dispose all evidence of this incident ever occurring, no questions asked. He would climb out the window and go live in a cave in the Spine of the World for the rest of his days.

With great fear and trepidation, Xan reached over the navel, down the treasure trail of hair (just in case anyone wondered, the bald monk was not a blonde but brunette), and tugged the blanket lower.

The monk still had his trousers on.

Xan breathed a tremendous sigh of relief.

Now to check if Rasaad was alive or dead.

With the pillow laid over his face and body, it was hard to tell. The monk wasn't a snorer (though he could recite Selunite faith tenets word-by-word at great lengths, which Xan found to be more infuriating than people who snorted and asphyxiated in their sleep). Xan lifted his wrist, pushed the pink and blue friendship bracelet aside, and felt around for a pulse.

There was still a heartbeat, albeit irregular, but the monk was definitely alive. He dropped the limp wrist back on the pillow.

How in the world did they end up like this?

His last memory of the night was ... nearly, literally, coming face to face with the drow.

DID HE KISS VICONIA?

Strangely, the thought didn't repulse him, even this morning. (Also he would be sorrier for not remembering such a momentous occasion in his life.) He tried to recall the memory of him standing in the doorway again, peering into the drow's violet eyes. He remember feeling her breath on his face. And then everything went black and starry.

He looked around the room. It wasn't his. Was it Rasaad's? He searched around for the monk's pack, weapons and "light reading" books on systematic theology. Nothing. And to his alarm, Xan found his tunic floating inside the half-empty tub.

Not wanting to be around when the monk woke up, Xan gathered his tunic and made his way to the door. Peeking outside the landing told him that they had spent the night in Viconia's room. Instead of taking the west flight of stairs last night, he had taken the east and mistakenly ended up at her room.

Where was the drow now?

He glanced back at the motionless Rasaad again. He hoped to dear Corellon they didn't partake in anything lewd together with the drow (separately was still acceptable). He went back quickly to the monk and pulled the smothering pillow off, inspecting his face for any lipstick marks, hickeys, or teeth marks for that matter.

Nothing except the expression of slumber so deep he wondered if the monk had gone into a coma.

He replaced the pillow over Rasaad's face and opened the door again. After he was sure he couldn't hear anyone coming up the stairs, he sprinted to his own room on the other side of the landing. His key was no longer on him and since he hadn't memorized any spells to open doors, he would just have to break down the door. He had watched Rasaad do it plenty of times so how hard could it be!

Unfortunately much harder than he thought, as he threw himself against the door repeatedly, grunting and then starting to perspire profusely. How did the others make it look so easy, especially that human ranger Minsc, who could take a door off its hinges by just pulling the doorknob.

Speaking of doorknobs, Xan peered closer at it and realized that the key had been left in the keyhole. He raged within himself, even more so when he realized the door had also been left unlocked.

Inside his room, someone had tossed all of Rasaad's gear onto his bed. To make a strong vindictive point, they had torn several pages from his book on systematic theology and also scrawled "Selune is a shit goddess!" on the cover.

Which meant Viconia had stayed in the monk's room last night!

Xan felt slightly offended that she chose Rasaad's room over his, when she obviously had two options, and his room was closer to hers. Why Rasaad's? Just because the monk was _a lot_ tidier and didn't leave powdered bones, other arcane material components and muffin crumbs all over the floor doesn't make the monk's bed more inviting!

A hundred things ran over Xan's head as he washed – nay, _scrubbed_ – and put on his clean robes. He _really_ couldn't remember what had happened that moment when Viconia came within inches of his face. There was his heart banging against his chest, the whirlpool in his stomach, the heat on his ears and cheeks, and hopelessness losing its suffixes "less" and "ness".

Did he kiss Viconia? Yay or nay?

Sighing at the realization that last night's mystery would annoy him more than any of his investigations, even if it was as serious as Bhaal resurfacing in their midst (even Xan didn't believe he could be so unlucky as to encounter the Lord of Murder in _any_ form), Xan decided he must find out what actually happened last night with Viconia during The Close Encounter.

He combed his fingers through his hair as he dragged himself over to Rasaad's room. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself to face the wrath of a drow, he knocked on the door.

Viconia ripped the door open as if expecting him, greeting him with her patented evil glare.

"Good morning, Viconia!" He tried his best to conjure a bright smile, flashing his teeth and feeling his cheek cramp.

"You shit elf!"

"You're looking well this morning. I trust you find the room agreeable? You could've actually stayed in mine, by the way."

"Darkness take you!"

Xan sighed. He had been right to think that pleasantries would not work with the drow. "Straight to the point then. Did anything ... untoward happen last night?"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK? You cast me out of my own room!"

"Viconia, may I take this time to express how _merciful_ you have been?" Xan persisted, in the meekest voice he could muster, bringing his palms together and putting his hands to his forehead.

The drow looked like she was about to spew blood.

He put down his hands and cleared his throat. "Did anything else unpleasant … possibly _pleasant_, happen?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The drow folded her arms but dropped the glare, instantly catching his reference to The Close Encounter. "This is most intriguing ... not only was the enchanter intoxicated, but he appears to have lost his memory."

"I can retrieve the memory by force if I wish to do so. It is for the sake of conversation that I am asking you.'

The drow grinned wickedly and shook her head. "Servants of Shar dwell in secrets, as you well know."

Xan sighed again, and placed his hands against the doorframe. He would have to do things the _difficult_ way. So be it then. The first thing he would have to do was break down the drow's strong magic resistances. He gazed into the drow's eyes, compelling her not to look away, and started chanting under his breath.

"There is this Common word I know of that is referred to as 'The Magic Word' in surface interaction that possesses greater power of influence than arcane magic. 'Please' I believe it is."

Xan ceased his chanting and blinked.

"Please, Viconia?"

Viconia cocked her head to one side. Then, unexpectedly merciful again, she told him, "As you stood at my doorway with your tongue hanging out of your mouth, saliva flowing down to your chin, the moon-child rammed into you like a bull."

So the monk interrupted them? What was he trying to do? Enforce his moral higher ground, or express his jealousy? Either way … how dared he interrupt such a moment!

Viconia carried on animatedly. "In his tear-ridden state of terror, he wailed and I quote:

" 'Xan, remember you once told me that if anyone tried to touch me below the waist without my consent, I should say "no" and run away?' "

"I am amazed, Viconia, that's actually a brilliant impression of the monk," Xan remarked. Viconia had managed to mimic the Calishite accent perfectly, rolling her tongue in Rasaad's strangulated-virgin manner. He never thought her capable of such talent though he was no stranger to her sardonic sense of humor.

The drow grinned appreciatively before she continued. "You responded with this most peculiar surface expression – 'Go soak your head'."

This time it wasn't as funny when she mimicked the way _he _spoke, and he wondered why she had to toss her head back dramatically as she said it.

"You then hurled the monk towards the tub. An impressive display of strength I must admit, that I never imagined a weakling such as yourself capable of."

Xan tried to his best to look unconcerned as he now had the answer as to why his tunic was found soaked in rose-scented water.

"I was sorely tempted to let you two drunken fools drown in soiled bathwater. But I thought it more amusing to introduce two frigid males to the possibilities of bedroom decadence. So I stripped the both of you of your shirts and guided you to the sheets. Truth be told, the monk merely slumped himself across the mattress like a bagged corpse.

"As for _you_, you decided to embrace the sleeping monk's thigh in one arm and your sword in the other. Whether you remained in that position the whole night through, or discovered the joys of simultaneous fellatio, I bore no witness."

"Viconia, a question, if I may." Xan decided to drop his civility. "Why must you always be so damn rude?"

"What else can I do in the company of limp cowards?" Viconia snapped right back, her glare returning.

"I assure you nothing happened between the monk and me!"

"In bed with a spread-eagled lifeless body and you accomplished nothing last night? That is most pathetic!"

"What I was trying to accomplish last night was something else completely different!"

"I am certain your spectacular failures would be of interest to no one. Now begone from my room!" Viconia snapped as she started to shut the door on him.

Xan was suddenly hit by a feeling of utter panic at the thought of Viconia shutting him out. He recalled that pool of warmth he felt last night, standing in her doorway. They were logically consistent with what he had been feeling over the last few days (note: he would never cultivate unhealthy feelings for barely-legal girls and monk boys). So although the spiked wine did the talking, the only thing it did to his feelings was enhance them, turning them up a few notches. And just for effect, the meddling gods placed Viconia right in front of him on the game board so he could no longer ignore what he felt, and it was his turn so he had to make his move.

Being neutral and uninvolved and letting the others do the leading or crusading didn't seem to work very well any more, especially when it came to feelings not manipulated by spells.

Since he was doomed one way or another, and he had a bucket list he wanted to update, Xan pushed the door back and said, "What I was trying to accomplish last night was simply thus."

He leaned in quickly and swept his lips against hers.

Before Viconia could kill him, he quickly shut the door first.


	6. 6: Rasaad

_NOTE: More Rasaad dialogue taken straight from BG:EE in this chapter. _

* * *

"RASAAAAAD! ... WAIT UP! ... PLEASE! ... IT'S ME! IMOEN!"

Rasaad turned around to see a pink figure in the distant south, running up the paved road from Beregost. Agony and exhaustion flushed her face red as she struggled towards him in loud, heavy steps. It took Imoen almost a minute to reach him, and when she did she keeled over with her hands on her knees, wheezing and out of breath.

"Why – hck – do – you – hrhh – run – so – fast?" she wheezed loudly, sucking for air in between her words.

"Was I running?" Rasaad was surprised. Usually he moved a lot faster, but he felt like taking a casual stroll that morning. At one point he even took out the book he was currently reading to reread his favorite chapter – 'On the Diagrammatic and Mechanical Representation of Propositions and Reasonings' – as he walked.

"I've been chasing you for two hours!" Imoen looked up at him, her face drenched in sweat and her eyes all red and teary. She wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her hands.

Then she burst into tears altogether, much to his alarm.

"_Please_ _Rasaad!_ D-don't leave us!" Tears flooded down Imoen's cheeks. She pulled out a kerchief to wipe her eyes, then blew her nose until the cloth became all soggy.

"We're so, so sorry for g-getting you drunk!" Imoen sobbed, now wiping her eyes with her sleeves as she tried in vain to stop the uncontrollable tears.

_What is going on? _

"Imoen, I don't understand. What makes you think I'm leaving our group?" Rasaad asked her urgently.

"Y-you mean you're not mad at us?" The tears stopped dripping from her chin.

"Should I be?"

Yesterday, he recalled feeling upset when he awoke just in time to see the sun setting outside. How evil was the effects of alcohol, that he remembered almost nothing about the night before. His last memory was of Arquen climbing over the dinner table towards him whilst fiddling with the buttons in front of her tunic (why was she doing that? Was her chest feeling itchy?). It disturbed him greatly that he had woken up in a room that wasn't his own. Truly it could only have been Selune's divine mercy that had protected him from being tortured and slain, when he learnt he had passed out in Viconia's room! For the rest of the evening, his head spun and he kept vomiting whenever he tried to eat or drink or look into the mirror. "Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise," was the last thing his temple masters had said to him as he descended the steps of his monastery to set sail for Amn. As he had loudly declared a vow then that he would never drink alcohol in his life, he spent the night grieving over his great sin – so deep was his remorse he cried – and how he had disappointed his goddess and his temple masters.

Came this morning though, he wasn't feeling sick any more. Although he would like to have a stern word with Arquen, it seemed rather pointless for him to resurface all the bad feelings for the sake of being upset.

Imoen stopped crying and asked, "So why are you headed north all on your own?"

"Xan told me word has been mentioned on Alorgoth, and that I should investigate the rumors."

"_Xan_ gave you a lead on Alorgoth?"

"Aye. This morning he told me to set off on my own to the Friendly Arm Inn. He even gave me some gold and said, 'I want you to go and buy yourself a clue.' He told me only to return when – " Rasaad broke off his sentence as he realized in horror that he'd _completely_ misunderstood what Xan was trying to say ("Leave me alone for exactly twelve and a half hours."). _Again. _

Turning away from Imoen quickly, he dropped his gear by the nearest tree and sat down hard on the forest floor. Suddenly he felt very tired. And stupid. How could he have misinterpreted what Xan said just because the elf mentioned Alorgoth's name? He really should know better by now. Xan didn't even care about the massacre of the entire Sun Soul monastery and Gamaz's death in Athkatla! When Rasaad told him about the events in Athkatla, the only remark the elf had, which Rasaad found cutting instead comforting, was, "I take solace in the fact I would not be the only person in the sea of death around you."

He felt a hand squeezing his shoulder. "Rasaad, are you alright?" Imoen asked softly.

He looked up at her. A girl two years younger than him. Except for this morning's show of tears and during the fatigue of battle, Imoen was the only person who always kept a smile for him, it seemed. The only person who said kind things to him most of the time. Who never once shouted or said a bad word at him.

The only person he felt he didn't have to try to please or second guess.

He gave her a small smile. "I'm fine, Imoen. I'm sorry for making you run all this way." He offered her his wineskin, which she grabbed and chugged down nearly all the water.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "No worries! The moment I spotted you from the window, I knew I had to give chase! You ain't going anywhere without a bail, no sirree!" She poured some water over her face to cool off.

"It was foolish of me to take what everyone says at face value," Rasaad admitted.

"Here's a tip, Rasaad. Whatever Viconia tells you to do, if it involves endangering your life, _don't_ do it. If it's coming from Xan, ask him to do it first so that you'll know if he's sending you on a wild goose chase. If it's Arquen, even if it _doesn't_ make sense, even if it _defies logic_, just say yes and do it right away if you wanna make her happy."

"And what should I do if you told me to do something?" Rasaad smiled at her.

Instead of smiling back, Imoen looked away. She wasn't smiling either. "Oh, just ignore what I say, y'know."

"Why would I do that? I wouldn't ignore you, Imoen. I couldn't." He really meant that he couldn't, as he would expect Imoen to picklock his door, pour ice cubes down the back of his shirt, and jump up and down in front of him until he responded to her.

Imoen turned back to him with an intense expression on her face. "What do you think of me, Rasaad?"

He looked at her for a moment and thought how strange it was for her to not smile or laugh. Imoen was the cheerful one. She had all kinds of curious stories to tell, ranging from "hedgehog bowling" to "cute demigods". Everything amused her and she wanted everyone to share in her happiness, whether it came in the form of ice cream, fire spells or tadpoles. He could never imagine her losing that sparkle.

So he told her, "You are like the sun, who rises to light up everybody's day. You possess the brightest disposition and you shine with genuine warmth and kindness."

"Whoa. You sure are poetic for a preacher man. But I was simply wondering if you thought I was _pretty_." She broke into a grin and bore her eyes into his eagerly.

_Pretty … _

That word …

It had the power to beam down the symphony of harps and ecstatic joy from the heavens.

Or evoke the wrath of demons in the mortal planes.

Arquen had an obsession with that word. "Do I look _pretty_ today?" she would pick someone at random and ask_ every day_. Viconia too used that word in her eloquent manner: "Do your eyes burn with lust as you gaze upon my fine form? Do surfacers consider the ebony features of a drow _pretty?_" Once he heard a man in a bathhouse describe Xan as "_very pretty_".

Since he knew what Arquen and Viconia desired to hear, he regurgitated the model answer to Imoen, "Of course you are pretty."

Rasaad was certain he had said the right thing, but Imoen frowned at him. Then she folded her arms. Even though she couldn't look half as terrifying as Arquen and Viconia when they were furious, Rasaad felt cold sweat starting to form on his forehead.

"Who do you think is the prettiest in our group?" she asked.

Under the stress of interrogation, his throat went dry. Why couldn't she broach an easier subject, like the nine thousand mysteries of Selune he was trained to debate endlessly over?

What sort of criteria was he supposed to measure them against? Hair color? Arquen had blonde hair. Viconia had pale hair. Imoen had pink hair, which he learnt a couple of days ago that she had dyed recently but he honestly couldn't remember what color her hair was when they first met in Nashkel several months ago.

Were there points for different eye colors? Arquen had turquoise eyes, which he would always remember now because she told him herself that they were "blue-green like the ocean. Don't you dare say they're black again!" He had forgotten completely what color Viconia's eyes were. Maybe red? He glanced quickly at Imoen to determine that hers were light blue.

"Okay, let's make it even easier. Who's prettier – Arquen or me?"

Seriously, what sort of aesthetics was he supposed to look out for? Arquen had long hair, sometimes with braids here and there. Imoen had shoulder-length hair, and she knotted a few bunches with rubber bands. Arquen was an elf – no, a _half_-elf, with pointy ears. Imoen was human. What was he supposed to use as a performance metric in order to rate them higher or lower? Facial geometry? Interocular distance? Seriously, what?!

"Er … I think … er … " he fumbled helplessly.

Imoen raised her hand and patted him on the head, then – to his great relief – smiled. "Don't answer it. I know you like Arquen!"

"Of course! Don't you?"

"You know what I mean."

No, he had no idea what Imoen meant. But he didn't want to appear stupid for the second time that day, so he didn't pursue the topic. Instead, since she mentioned the half-elf first, he asked, "How is Arquen this morning?"

"Still drinkin'. We're planning to recycle the wine bottles. With all the money raised, we should be able to afford a horse!"

Rasaad sighed. He really wished Arquen wouldn't drink herself to oblivion, though he did his best to empathize and understand why she would want to erase her memories. At the bandit camp, aside from not finding the answers to Gorion's murder and her sudden departure from Candlekeep, he saw the macabre scene Kivan had left behind inside Tazok's tent. He had never seen arrows driven through bones before, and he most definitely had never seen rib cages turned into a chandelier. For Arquen to have witnessed the scene as it unfolded ... Selune have mercy, but there were some things in life you couldn't 'unsee'.

"Is there anything I could do that would persuade her to sobriety?" Rasaad asked.

"Buy her a castle."

"Really? Would that help?"

Imoen gave him a funny look. "You _really_ like Arquen, huh?"

"Doesn't everyone? My apologies, Imoen. I admit I don't really know what you mean."

Imoen appeared angry again, and again she turned away from him to glare at an unsuspecting butterfly fluttering past them. "I mean all you men desire girls who stay young forever! We're kiddos now but by thirty I'm gonna start wrinkling and sprouting grey hairs and all." She combed her pink hair roughly with her fingers. "You're human, too! Don't you dread the thought of becoming an old fart and turning bald naturally?"

"Actually, in a few years' time, I will inherit what monks call a 'timeless body'," Rasaad explained. "Though death comes when our time is up, we do not suffer the effects of aging, nor can we be magically aged."

"THANK YOU RASAAD YOU JUST MADE ME FEEL A WHOLE LOT BETTER!"

Rasaad winced with guilt for causing Imoen's face to burn as bright pink as her hair. "I – I have ruined your morning. Please forgive me, Imoen," he said. She responded by hugging her knees like a small child and exhaling loudly.

"Please tell me what can I do to make you feel better?"

"Well ... " Imoen looked up, a suggestive smile slowly taking over the anger. "How 'bout we go set random things on fire?"

* * *

Imoen was HOWLING from laughter.

And Rasaad couldn't stop grinning as he cracked his knuckles after the flames on his fists dissipated.

In front of them laid a burnt log with rather well-carved features of an elf, still smoking from the fire. The grass around it had been razed to the ground and the site looked as if a human sacrifice – correction, an _elf_ sacrifice had taken place in middle of the forest. Next to the cremated effigy of the elf was the letter 'X' made with two branches, still aflame.

"Oh gods, Rasaad! That's brilliant!" Imoen wiped the tears from her eyes, crying with laughter this time. "Get the 'A' and 'N' as well!"

He _really_ shouldn't be breaking anymore branches from the trees.

But it was too funny not to. Rasaad went to the nearest tree and snapped off six branches about the length of his arm each, accidentally collapsing a bough in the process. They laid the branches out on the ground until, together with the burning 'X', they spelt out a clear 'XAN'.

"My turn!" Imoen announced. She pulled out a pinch of yellow powder from the small pouch she had on her belt, then tossed the powder at the branches, chanting as she went along. For dramatic effect, she tipped her head back and spoke in a deep, operatic voice. Flames burst from the branches three feet high before blazing brightly. The burning of 'XAN' was complete.

Imoen fell about in hysterical laughter again, slapping her thigh and wiping her eyes. Rasaad chuckled, feeling pleased with himself for making Imoen laugh like so. A small token of apology for upsetting her earlier. He also couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun.

Rasaad glanced around them to make sure the wind wasn't blowing the dancing flames over to the trees, risking a forest fire. For some reason, he imagined Jaheira the half-elf druid marching up to them from the distance, in which case a forest fire would not have been the worst case scenario. It had been awhile since they last had the company of the druid but Rasaad suddenly pictured the permanent frown on her forehead in front of him, imagined her thunderous scolding voice and, of course, recalled her deep reverence for nature. She would be outraged if she saw this.

Rasaad blinked a few times, and realized that the figure of Jaheira did _not_ disappear. In fact, she was very rapidly approaching with a frown so deep it looked like crevices erupting on her forehead. Behind her was her husband Khalid, the half-elf warrior trying desperately to pull her back by the arm with a terrified look on his face. Despite the weight of his heavy chainmail armor, he was being dragged by his heels.

Imoen ducked behind him for cover. "I don't want to die," she said weakly as Rasaad's soul shook in fear.

Jaheira reached them and shoved Rasaad aside roughly. She leapt at the squealing Imoen, clamping the girl's ear with an iron hand. "OW!" Imoen yelped but immediately surrendered to the druid's grip as Rasaad watched nervously by the side. This had been a familiar, daily recurring scene from many tendays ago. Jaheira was always reprimanding Arquen and Imoen over some kind of misbehavior.

Then, in a _completely_ unexpected move, Jaheira reached over with her other hand to grip HIS ear.

"I would expect this kind of behavior from Arquen and Imoen – " the druid started scolding as she tightened her grip, pulling his face down to her height level, and making him look death in the eye.

" – and that buffoon Minsc may commit such acts of foolishness unknowingly – " she continued as she started pinching him, causing a burning sensation in his ear.

" – even _Dynaheir_ might occasionally set something aflame – " Rasaad dropped to his knees in fearful submission.

" _– I would even accept such nonsense coming from XAN –_ " He recalled the last time someone twisted his ear and shouted into it like so, and that was when he was seven years old, when a guard caught him and Gamaz stealing pomegranates at the market.

" – BUT YOU, RASAAD YN BASHIR, ARE THE LAST PERSON IN TORIL I WOULD EXPECT TO SEE DESECRATING NATURE IN SUCH AN UNSPEAKABLE MANNER!"

Rasaad braced himself for Jaheira to rip his ear off completely, wondering if his Lay on Hands healing would be able to stick body parts back like glue.

Finally, the druid released Imoen and him, and both of them fell to the ground on their elbows. Rasaad touched his throbbing ear as he burnt with deep shame inside, reduced to his seven-year-old self and shrunk to about three feet tall.

"N-n-now, now, Jaheira. I'm s-sure they are both very s-s-sorry," Khalid said, stuttering more than usual, at once trying to appease his wife as well as console Imoen and Rasaad.

After planting six seedlings as punishment and writing "I will not burn trees for fun" one hundred times on the sand with sticks, they spoke to the Harpers about all that had transpired since they parted ways.

"We will head to Cloakwood in a few days, once Arquen, uh, sobers up," Imoen was saying.

Jaheira immediately narrowed her brows and said, "The whelp is being a drunkard again? Honestly! Gorion would be so disappointed!"

"Well, at the bandit camp, she did witness Kivan going berserk and skewering organs. Like, ripping out hearts and, and ... Rasaad, what else did we see?"

"Livers, kidneys, one was just a severed foot, I believe." Rasaad recalled, and promptly lost his appetite for lunch.

"Yea, and he kinda strung them across the tent, like hanging up your laundry. Anyway, she says the nightmares won't stop. She now has another one of her supernatural abilities to cast a Horror spell. Also, she can't eat meatloaf any more."

"And you are certain this elf ranger is not evil?" Jaheira didn't look pleased with their choice of companions, so Rasaad exchanged looks with Imoen before they dared say, "Oh, we have a cleric traveling with us now."

"And this cleric would owe their allegiance to which temple?"

"Oh, none to be of any concern. Shar."

"SHAR? Rasaad!" Jaheira shifted her glare to him. "Would you care to elaborate with no embellishments or nonchalant glossing over of the truth?"

"The drow is – "

"DID YOU JUST SAY 'DROW'?"

Rasaad winced slightly as he nodded. Jaheira started swearing under her breath – something involving Silvanus and armpits – as Khalid patted her shoulder and said, "Our role of guardian is a t-test. We can reconsider having ch-children if you wish, my dear."

Rasaad continued, "The drow is an exile of her people, and it is a chance for me to be faithful in delivering the teachings of Selune, that she may one day embrace the light and turn away from the void."

"Th-that is most admirable, Rasaad," Khalid said encouragingly, always the man to think positively. He darted his eyes over at Jaheira in hope she would concur and drop that stare of dubiety. She didn't.

They headed back to Beregost. Rasaad walked behind the Harpers quietly with Imoen, listening to the druid's plans on what they should do in Cloakwood, where they ought to explore first, and which wildlife species population survey to be conducted whilst they were in the wilderness.

"Dearest, I think we sh-should let the others have a s-say as well in the mission," Khalid said to his wife.

"Need I remind you what happened when we let the young ones take the lead in Nashkel?" Jaheira said sharply. "We ended up in the carnival for three days! No, _we_ will lead!"

Everyone decided to walk in silence after that. After all, the Harpers had responded to the note they'd left at the Friendly Arm Inn and though it had been almost a month ago, they still headed southwards immediately to regroup with Arquen.

Not to mention it was also wise to let the hot-headed druid have her say, lest their ears be twisted beyond repair.

* * *

At the Jovial Juggler, Imoen grabbed Rasaad's hand. "You're the best person to rouse Arquen after her bingeing!" she cheerfully told him, planting her key in his hand while pretending to give him a formal handshake.

"But, Imoen, she is _your_ sister and – " Rasaad tried to say.

"I need to sort out rooms for Mr. and Mrs. Harper. Bye-bye!" Imoen pushed him towards the stairs and steered Jaheira and Khalid towards the bar. "Rasaad's the only person who can take a few magic missile hits," he overheard her say to the couple.

Rasaad decided to go unload his gear in his own room first. Having shifted to Viconia's former room, he was now next door to Xan.

And outside Xan's room that afternoon, he came across Viconia, who was banging on the door impatiently. There was a frantic look on the drow's face, as if she had been robbed or violated in some manner.

Rasaad considered ignoring the drow, but the fact that he was still alive meant she had been uncharacteristically merciful towards him despite his drunken episode.

So he went up to her. "Viconia? Is something the matter?"

The drow turned to him with a storm on her face. "When did you last see Xan?" she asked curtly.

"Briefly this morning, when he asked me to fetch breakfast."

"I have not seen the elf since yesterday morning! Is this still his room, or have the two of you started cohabiting?" She stomped her feet on the spot like a child. "My afternoon was wasted sitting around outside, yet I have not seen a soul!"

"This is most definitely his room. The only way out is if he climbed out the window." Rasaad paused, believing it absurd that Xan would try to leave through the window on the third floor. "Of course ... Xan could've casted a teleportation spell of some sort," he reasoned.

By the way Viconia was glaring and yanking at the doorknob, Rasaad could tell that she was very agitated.

"Should I happen to come across Xan later, would you like me to pass him a message?" he offered.

Viconia paused to look at him, considering the offer. Then she said, "Indeed you could."

Glad he could assist the drow and demonstrate the benevolent light of Selune, Rasaad asked, "What would you like me to convey to him?"

** SLAP! **

For the second time that day, Rasaad found himself subjected to a completely unexpected act when Viconia slapped him across the face. _  
_

He touched his stinging cheek and stared at the drow.

"Be sure to convey this to the coward!" Viconia snapped as she turned her heels and stomped off.

Rasaad wondered what could have transpired between Xan and Viconia as he went to his room to put away his gear. The enchanter once said to him, "She loathes elves, and despises worshippers of Selune. Shall we wager who she will poison to death first? If I die, promise me you'll make the journey to Evereska, that my moonblade may be returned to my kin. If you die, can I sell your boots? They're worth 12,500 gold at the stores, aren't they?"

Strangely, he recalled having seen Xan stare at Viconia for several minutes at a time. Prolonged gazes that trailed the drow from one end of the room to the other, or watched her eat a sandwich from start to finish. He asked Xan before why he couldn't tear his eyes away from the drow, one night when she had been sleeping in her bedroll for a good hour. After a startled leap from his seat, Xan had said, "I am merely conducting some individual observations to aid my investigations. Why are you stalking people, you creep!"

As for Viconia, Rasaad had always thought she acted less contemptuously towards Xan compared to everyone else. She complained about Xan's complaining and swore at him with death threats, however ... she actually referred to Xan _by his name. _Whenever Rasaad spoke to the drow, on the other hand, she always referred to him by anything _other _than his name – like "monk", "moon-child", "fool", "retard", "star shit trooper", "fuckwit", and vulgar words he had never heard before until he met her, that alarmed him every time he checked the dictionary for their meanings, especially when used in their various combinations. Calling Xan by his name was the biggest evidence of Viconia attributing some measure of humanity (in the drow sense) and worth to the elf. He believed it was likely gratitude, even in the smallest measurement or whatever a drow was capable of, to Xan for saving her life. It was one of the glimpses of inner light he could see in her … at least Rasaad would like to think so, because if it wasn't then the possibility of Xan selling his Moonlight Walkers was higher.

Keeping in view Viconia's 'message', Rasaad strode to the other section of the inn where the royal suites were located. As a reward for their discovery and partial wipeout of the bandit camp, Officer Vai of the Flaming Fist had provided them with the finest suites at the Jovial Juggler. Arquen and Imoen were staying together in the largest suite they had.

He knocked on the door several times and waited for Arquen to answer. When she didn't, he unlocked the door with Imoen's key.

"Arquen?" he said quietly.

No answer. Rasaad pushed the door open further and heard the sounds of bottles clinking against each other. He peeked behind the door to find a dozen empty wine bottles scattered across the floor. Careful not to step on any bottles, he made his way across the spacious living area, stepping over the luxurious persian orange carpet, past the ornamental plants and armoire.

On the northwest side of the suite, he found the half-elf wrapped in the royal blue blankets of her king-sized bed with a bottle. Looking very much like a baby in bed with a bottle, except her one-litre bottle had no teat attached and included an alcohol level of at least fifteen percent.

"Arquen?" he said again as he went up to the bedside. Arquen popped the bottle out of her mouth and turned to him, not saying anything.

Recalling his conversation with Imoen that morning about the meaning of "pretty", and Imoen's assumption that he found Arquen "prettier", Rasaad decided to examine the half-elf's face in closer detail to see if he could discern some features that could set the benchmark of what being "pretty" should be.

A wave of vertigo overcame him.

The disease-like drunk rashes ... The glazed beholder-like eyes ... The smeared days-old makeup on her face ... Selune granted him the courage he needed, for that beast in bed frightened him to no end, even more than clowns, which to Rasaad had always been horror personified.

"Hey you, why do you have a topographic map on your face?" Arquen croaked, flopping the back of an arm over her eyes.

"It's me, Rasaad."

"RASAAD?!"

Arquen sprang up ninety-degree straight. As she turned to him the bones in her neck cracked loudly from two days of inactivity, causing him to stagger backwards and fall on his butt. He half-expected her to rotate her head a full 360 degrees just then. Never before had he felt the instinct to flee a room screaming.

"Rasaad I swear I was only messing about when I tried to strip you that night please please please don't be upset!" she squealed loudly.

His fear turned to shock.

"Did you just say you tried to – to strip me?"

"Oh …

"_Ohhh ..._ I meant _trip_ you! At the stairs!"

Rasaad had no memory of being tripped at the stairs (or even leaving the tavern after Arquen climbed over the table towards him, for that matter).

Before he could ask Arquen to help fill in the gaps in his memory, there was a knock on the door. Rasaad answered it to find two servants standing outside. "The young lady downstairs has requested for a hot bath to be prepared immediately," the bathman informed in a harried tone, as if he had just been asked to prepare a princess's knobstick wedding.

They proceeded to march into the room carrying buckets of hot water, towels, a fresh dish of soap as well as random items like red oddly-shaped candles, a basket of rose petals and dessert. The tub was filled and candles were lit around the room, as if to symbolize some blossoming pathway that led to a full flowering (or deflowering, since the petals had been 'plucked') on the bed. Rasaad watched the servants transformed the suite into shades of red, including changing the bedding (flipping Arquen around as if in a casualty ward at a temple but with more grace), and wondered why Imoen would make such an urgent request when it was obvious Arquen would struggle even to climb out of bed, let alone appreciate the new decoration.

As the servants made their way out, the grinning woman pushed a small bottle into Rasaad's hand. "To create the mood!" she said with a wink, just as the bathman thumped him on the shoulder and performed a forceful fist pump.

He watched them leave and examined the contents of the bottle. It smelt of patchouli mixed with the very exotic scent of ylang ylang. When he rubbed a drop between his fingers, the almond oil caused a tingling sensation of warmth.

_What a strange massage oil ..._

Glancing back at Arquen, he saw her crawling towards the edge of the bed. Quickly, he made his way over again, slipping his hands under her arms just in time to catch her as she flipped over the edge. The new red blanket and a couple of heart-shaped silk cushions tumbled onto the floor as Arquen pressed her trembling body against his.

She didn't look like she could get from the west side of the suite to the tub by the east wall without shambling across the floor like a zombie, so Rasaad scooped the petite half-elf up in his strong arms and carried her.

On the other side of the room, a phallic-shaped candle had been lit next to the tub, its flames flickering passionately as hot red wax dripped down its length. Inside the tub, rose petals floated over the steaming water with the sweet scent of anticipation.

Rasaad gently put Arquen down on her feet. He knelt down to hold her hips and keep her from swaying.

"Oh dear, standing up just made the wine swim to my head again! I am sooo high right now!" Arquen said in a husky voice as she slowly pulled off her chemise, head disappearing into linen as she lifted the lacy hem above her toned calves, then knees, then slender thighs spread slightly apart.

Then Rasaad caught sight of a book lying facedown on the floor just behind her. Curious, he reached over to pick it up.

_History of the Dead Three._ An interesting, albeit dark title.

The candlelight by the tub wasn't bright enough so Rasaad went across to the southeast corner of the room, the sitting area with a long sofa where an oil lamp offered better reading light.

Making himself comfortable in the luxurious silk cushion framed with red oak, Rasaad flipped the book open.

_In ages past there was but one god of strife, death, and the dead, and he was known as Jergal, Lord of the End of Everything._

On the coffee table in front of him was a plate of strawberries and chocolate truffles arranged in a heart shape. Rasaad didn't have a sweet tooth, so he casually swept the chocolate to one side – breaking the heart pattern until it resembled a strawberries versus chocolate truffles battlefield formation – and picked at the strawberries as he engrossed himself in the tale.

_During this dark era, there arose three powerful mortals – Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul – who lusted after the power Jergal wielded. The trio forged an unholy pact, agreeing that they would dare to seek such ultimate power or die in the attempt._

He had studied the histories of the gods before, especially the rise and demise of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder, but he had not yet read this version, and he always enjoyed reading different historical retellings, preferably unabridged versions with extended footnotes and appendixes.

"RASAAD ARE YOU GOING TO SPEND ANOTHER TWENTY MINUTES PRETENDING I DON'T EXIST?"

Rasaad slammed the book shut and cleared his throat. How rude of him! He had almost forgotten about Arquen behind him! He ran through his head the most appropriate conversation topic he could think of and the most interesting thing he could possibly say at that moment, knowing they were alone in a luxurious suite and Arquen was partially intoxicated, and presently very wet.

"Do you seek enlightenment?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

He saw Arquen plunging her head under the rose petals. Bubbles foamed at the surface like boiling water and parted the petals in waves as she appeared to be blowing her nose very hard – either that or she was screaming (but why would she do that? Was she frustrated by something and needed to vent?) – underwater. When she resurfaced from her aquatic torrent of effervescence, she let out a sigh so deep it could only be contested by Xan.

In a strange hollow tone of voice, she said, "I'd like to know more about your search for the missing Sun Soul monks."

Rasaad wasn't sure if she was genuinely interested, but since she asked, he recalled some details of his past he had shared with her earlier, on his search for the elusive Alorgoth in Athkatla, whom his investigations believed to be the mastermind behind the slaughter of the Sun Soul monastery in Athkatla. "After discovering our fellow Sun Soul monks had vanished from their monastery, we felt the truth must lie behind the name Alorgoth. We spread out in pairs to investigate further. Gamaz and I, used to life on Calimport streets, searched for rumors on the streets of Athkatla.

"Much of our investigation took place at night, under the benign gaze of Selune. You see, although the sun shines more brightly, it is the moon that reveals the truths hidden in darkness.

"One night, we witnessed several shadowy figures assaulting a lone man on the street. We raced to his defense. The Moonmaiden blessed us, and we drove off his attackers."

He recalled the moment his brother, never one to doubt his own abilities, chased the attackers into an alley. "Despite our intervention, the man was gravely wounded, I remained with him, tending his wounds as best I could while calling for help. Gamaz, however, pursued the attackers.

"I shouted at him to come back, but he did not listen. Sometimes I wonder whether things would have been different if I had followed Gamaz instead of remaining with the wounded man."

He then fell silent and looked down at the book distractedly. The memories ... filled him with darkness, casting not light but a cold, empty shadow onto the world. In their group, only Xan knew about his past ... and upon hearing about the death of Gamaz, the elf made that hurtful comment about him being surrounded by death before saying he didn't want to listen anymore.

"What happened next?" Arquen asked.

He swallowed, remembering the grave mistake he made that caused his brother's life, though he tried to tell himself that his Order compelled him to aid the wounded. "I suppose it might have been worse had I gone with him. Still, I wish that night I could have been two men, one to remain with the injured man, another to go with my brother.

"When help finally arrived, I ran after Gamaz. I found him only a few streets away. My brother had fought bravely, slaying three of his attackers before he was brought down."

Should he really tell Arquen everything? He never told her what happened to Gamaz before this, and she never actually asked. Knowing Arquen was struggling with coming to terms with her foster father's death, he didn't really need to share his past (his "maudlin plea", as Xan would call it).

But, he also didn't want to keep her in the dark, so he took a deep breath and told her about Gamaz's fate. "Once more I cried out for help. Men came soon, but not to aid me. Instead they arrested me for fighting in the streets, leaving Gamaz to die in a pool of his own blood.

"When the guards released me the following day, Gamaz had died. They said he had been slain by Shadow Thieves. The guards could not even give me his body, for they had burned it with those of the other dead men."

No funeral. Not even a final glimpse of his body to mourn. Gamaz, who stood as a pillar of tradition and excellence in the Order of the Sun Soul, _his only brother_, deserved more than that. Unbidden, Rasaad was filled with gnawing thoughts about how his family would've been better off if he hadn't been born. His mother certainly wouldn't have died at childbirth; his father wouldn't have struggled to raise Gamaz and him, then die at the Arena Efreetum for his debts; and Gamaz ...

Gamaz would have been _perfect_. All Gamaz had to do was set his heart on it and he could've been anything he wanted to be because he wouldn't have a little brother to hold him back.

He didn't realize how long he had sat in silence, replaying the memory of Gamaz lying in the alley with his blood and life flowing out of him, himself being dragged away by the guards screaming, until someone took the book out of his hand.

It was Arquen. She was done with her bath and though her hair wasn't dry she looked a lot better with clean skin and a fresh set of clothes. She put the book away and slipped her hand into his. "That's terrible. I'm sorry for your loss, Rasaad," she said softly.

He tried to offer her a small smile but couldn't. "Thank you for your kindness," he told her instead.

She sat next to him and looked at him earnestly, urging him to continue.

"Disheartened by the tragedy, my fellow monks returned to Calimport. Gamaz and I had entered the monastery together, as brothers. I could not return without him. "Neither could I remain in Athkatla, a city that forever holds evil memories for me. I traveled north. At first I thought I might visit the Monastery of the Sun in Waterdeep, which they call the City of Splendors.

"Yet I was in no hurry to arrive. Every day since entering the Order of the Sun Soul, I had striven to fill my heart with radiance that I may share it with others. After Gamaz's death, I felt only the shadows of grief and despair." He recalled wandering off the northbound road from Amn aimlessly, contemplating the vast and coldness of the snowy mountains of Cloud Peaks in the distance. There were solitary days and nights in the forest without encountering another soul. Only the moon and Selune's light as his companion. Being alone, as he truly was.

Arquen was gazing back at him sadly. When he looked into her eyes, he saw it was his reflection that caused the darkness in them, tainting that beautiful color of the ocean. He couldn't bear to be the cause of her sadness, not even for a moment. "But perhaps I have dwelt too long on such memories. I wished to share my inner light with you, not my inner darkness," he said, smiling in spite of the dull ache in his chest.

"I'm sorry to bring up such a sad subject. Thank you for sharing it," Arquen said as she held his hand.

"I thought it best that you should know my past, since we travel together," Rasaad told her, finding the touch of her hand comforting.

"It wasn't the kind of spiritual and airy-fairy enlightenment I expected of you, but I realize you never told me about Gamaz's fate earlier."

"I did not wish to unburden my past onto you, knowing you have recently lost Gorion."

"As strange as it may sound, the world doesn't always revolve around me," Arquen said as she started fiddling the beads on his bracelets with her other hand. "Without others, I am as lost as a bunny mounting an anthill with love on its mind."

"Speaking of others, Jaheira and Khalid are downstairs."

Her dramatic change of expression was as if he'd just scrubbed two lemon halves all over her face. She let go of his hand and folded her arms.

"Arquen ... you just said that without others, you are lost," Rasaad told her as he observed the blackening cloud on her face. "The Harpers are supposed to be your guardians."

The half-elf huffed and puffed to herself before she jumped to her feet. "Fine! Let's go hug the treehugger!"

* * *

Downstairs in the tavern, they found the Harpers and Imoen seated at a round table. The group spotted Arquen at the same time, and the half-elves immediately got to their feet, Jaheira already moving towards the girl.

"How wonderful to see you again!" Arquen cried as she stretched out her arms and started running towards the table. She rushed past the druid as if she didn't see her and threw her arms around Khalid first. Jaheira's reaction was a vein popping on her forehead as she gave Rasaad a does-this-cretin-belong-to-you? glare.

"It-it's good to see you again!" Khalid said in his awkward manner, kissing Arquen lightly on the cheek before spinning her around by the shoulders to face Jaheira.

"Oh hallo Jaheira!" Arquen said loudly, giving the druid a wave. At once taking the high road and controlling her temper, Jaheira stepped forward to embrace the younger half-elf. "It is good you have been kept safe," Jaheira said gently, touching Arquen's cheek, tilting her head and studying her face as if checking for injuries.

Whatever that had occurred – which everyone referred to as The Incident That Must Not Be Repeated Aloud, involving Arquen's wand of fire, a tree of communal birds and their nests, fried eggs and bony pieces of nestlings that were more chewy than crunchy – the druid had forgiven it all, and it was plain in her show of tenderness that she cared deeply for Arquen beyond her guardian role.

"You must be hungry. Come." Jaheira beckoned them towards the table, and Rasaad found himself sat in between a very animated Arquen talking loudly to Jaheira, flapping her hands like people who live by mediterranean seas; and a grinning Imoen.

As for Xan and Viconia, they were nowhere to be seen.

"It was real weird," Imoen told him when he queried about the elves. "Xan was standing outside his room, moaning about us poisoning him with the absinthe. Then Viconia opened her door. All I did was turn around to say hi, but when I turned back, Xan had vanished!

"Viconia was weirdly upset about Xan's disappearing act, and refused to come downstairs to meet our Harper parents here. Did Xan get on her wick or something?"

Rasaad shrugged, himself curious over the elves' behavior. It was as if they had fallen in love and didn't know how to deal with it. Should such a bizarre affair actually happen, he could only imagine the drow reacting with fury and the moon elf with terror.

But of course he knew even less about romantic relationships than Underdark sexual deviants and emotionally tortured enchanters.

"Speaking of wicks, how did the dipping go earlier?" Imoen dropped to a whisper so that Arquen and the Harpers couldn't hear her as she elbowed his side.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Rasaad was confused.

"Come on, Rasaad! Don't you think it was the most romantic setting in the world? Rose petals! Candles! Exotic oils! Aphrodisiacs! Surely you discovered something worthy to do?" she hissed.

"Well, in your room I did come across this book, _History of the Dead Three_, and read some of it when Arquen was bathing. I would certainly like to read some more. Could I borrow it?"

Imoen stared at him with an open mouth for a prolonged minute. "Wow, Rasaad, are you sure you're not a Sun Soul Monk because you're so dense that light bends around you?"

Before Rasaad could ask Imoen to explain further, Arquen shouted by his side, "I'll go get my loudmouth soup then!" and promptly dashed away from the tavern.

Jaheira steamed in her seat as Khalid fanned his wife with a serviette. "All I said was she needed to learn how to speak instead of shout and that brat used it as an excuse to get a bottle. I no longer care if she drinks herself blind!" Jaheira declared.

"I-Imoen," Khalid said. "Arquen refuses to listen to us. C-could you go to her and c-c-convince her not to drink?"

Imoen shook her head. "She hasn't been listening for twenty years. Well, technically ten, since she officially started drinking. What makes you think she's gonna listen to me now?"

All eyes fell on Rasaad.

"Ras-s-saad, maybe you should try t-talking to her, and share a b-bit of y-your enlightenment," Khalid urged.

Dutifully, Rasaad made his way to Arquen's suite again. He found the half-elf in the midst of uncorking a bottle with an illustrated label of a dwarf bleeding and frothing in his mouth.

When she saw him, she cheered happily. "Rasaad! Come share this with me! Any bottle that has a picture of a dwarf with a bandage over his body where the liver is promises a good time!" When she pulled the cork stopper out, Rasaad noticed in alarm that it had been partially dissolved by the drink and was emanating a hissing sound.

"Arquen, could I please enlighten you on the evils of such substances?" Rasaad pleaded, trying to snatch the bottle out of her hands, however she moved a lot faster, even managing to twirl the bottle around like a baton without spilling a single drop.

"Drinking destroys my liver and brain cells, et cetera. I do not need enlightenment on that!" Arquen scowled at him. Rasaad stared helplessly at her as she tilted the bottle upside down and started chugging away. If only she knew how unsightly and vulgar she looked!

If only she knew ... which gave him an idea.

"No, Arquen," Rasaad started to say. Boldly, he reached out to hold up a handful of her long blonde hair in front of her face. "When you drink, your hair becomes unkempt, making you look like a medusa."

Then he pointed at her face, defying the small glare forming. "At the end of the evening, the turquoise in your eyes gets lost under a torrent of red veins and black flakes from your makeup. You shed your eyelashes."

She paused her drinking and fingered her face worriedly.

"You break out in terrible rashes on your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, your chest. Those rashes ooze out liquid when you scratch them and that's how you get the stains on your collar."

That idea was working like a charm! Arquen was looking more and more horrified. He felt a little guilty but he carried on.

"Then you belch like a dwarf, which you are not. You have vomited a few times in front of everyone in the tavern. Once, you farted.

"What I am trying to enlighten you of is, whenever you drink, you look _anything but pretty._"

Upon him dropping the awe-inspiring verbal bomb "pretty", Arquen screamed and let go of the bottle. It smashed on the floor and dissipated into distilled smoke.

"GET IT ALL AWAY FROM ME! I'M NEVER DRINKING AGAIN!" the half-elf shrieked, quickly grabbing all the bottles and throwing them out the door. Bottles went tumbling down the stairs, scattering broken glass, raining wine and causing such a violent scene that tavern and inn guests gathered to watch. When Arquen realized she had a crowd before her, she screamed some more. "You drunkards! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

That night, a dozen people made the life-changing decision to give up their years lost to drunkenness upon hearing the half-elf's chilling testimony and heartfelt pleas.

* * *

With the Harpers back in their midst and Arquen born again sober, Rasaad had one more task to accomplish before the end of the night.

Standing in front of Xan's door, he decided to first call out, "Xan, it's just Rasaad! I have an urgent message for you!"

He did so before he knocked on the door. For whatever reason, if the elf really was avoiding Viconia, Rasaad figured that by identifying himself upfront, he could get the elf to answer the door before he teleported, disappeared or made some mysterious exit.

True enough, he heard the shuffling of feet, and Xan opened the door slightly.

"What is it?" the elf hissed, his eyes darting around, checking their surroundings to make sure Rasaad was alone.

"I have a message from Viconia," the monk told him. Xan opened the door and grabbed Rasaad by the front of his shirt, pulling him inside the room, then slamming the door shut again.

"What is it?" he asked again nervously. The elf stood before him with pleading eyes. He looked more strung up and fidgety than usual, folding and unfolding his arms, running his fingers through his hair, swallowing loudly.

For a moment, Rasaad hesitated to deliver Viconia's message. Imoen said not to do anything Viconia asked him to if it involved endangering his own life. But this had to do with Xan and not him ...

"Tell me what Viconia told you, Rasaad!" Xan barked.

Then Rasaad shrugged to himself and figured that, suicide aside, he should never be afraid of putting his own life in danger. He also figured that if he was made to be the messenger of such ... impactful news, he might as well deliver it to the best of his abilities.

With that in mind, he slapped Xan across the face so hard the elf spun around.


End file.
